


Just Another Deep Breath

by Vanata37



Series: Breathing Room [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Co-workers, Depression, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Not Epilogue Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-War, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 73,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanata37/pseuds/Vanata37
Summary: Twenty-eight and divorced, trying to get back in the dating game, trying to convince everyone she was fine, trying not to either punch Ron or break down in tears every time she saw him, that was her life at the moment.It had been a full year already. A year full of anger, tears, bitterness, jealousy, guilt. A year full of self-pity, self-doubt, and self-reflection. A year since her entire life hit the wall...Hermione took another deep breath. That seemed to be the only thing to keep her going these days: deep breaths.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Breathing Room [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966066
Comments: 81
Kudos: 444





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, this story is very personal for me. The first chapter started out as just journal entries from when I was going through my divorce a couple years ago. Being 28 and divorced made it feel like my life was coming to a crashing halt. This story is how I think Hermione, the strong, independent character that I’ve always related to would handle a similar situation that’s forced upon her. It’s pretty slow burn for Dramione, but they’ll get there, I promise!
> 
> Secondly, some of this story (including the title) is inspired by the song, Lipstick by Dan and Shay. I suggest to listening to it, at least once, to see where my head is.
> 
> Thirdly, and most importantly, I’m giving a warning for those who suffer from depression and anxiety. As someone who does, I understand if you find it tough to read. The first chapter is pretty consistent to the feel of the story, so if you struggle with getting through the first chapter, this story isn’t for you. Hermione has a very strong support system at her disposal, so it’s not doom and gloom the entire time.
> 
> Thanks so much for choosing to read my story! I’m going to be updating on Sundays. As always (especially since I’m a new writer), any constructive criticism is appreciated. I don’t have a beta, so any errors are my own. Thanks again and sending all my love to you all!

It was just another Friday. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Hermione... Well, twenty-eight-year-old Hermione was still in bed, so you can imagine it wasn’t just any Friday for her. The lights were still off; the blinds were still closed. She knew she should have been getting up, but her bed was the only place she found any comfort these days. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

She was exhausted. Always exhausted. How do you _wake up_ exhausted, even after a full night of sleep? Sometimes, she would sleep for sixteen hours straight. Other nights, even with the dreamless sleep potion, she’d get a half hour at best. Her body was probably building up a tolerance for all the nights she needed to use it. It didn’t matter how much or how little sleep she got; it was always the same feeling. Exhausted from the heaviness of her heart. Exhausted from pretending to be fine. Exhausted from lying to everyone’s faces. Exhausted from the dark clouds covering her world. Exhausted.

Hermione turned her head on the pillow toward the bedside table and looked at the time. 7:45am. 7th of August. For anyone else, 7:45 in the morning was still early, but for Hermione, it felt good to sleep in; sleeping in meant less time inside her own head, even if it wasn’t a very restful sleep. She took another deep breath and turned her head toward the ceiling. It had been a full year already. A year full of anger, tears, bitterness, jealousy, guilt. A year full of self-pity, self-doubt, and self-reflection. A year since her entire life hit the wall. A year since she fell into a deep, dark hole that she was still trying to dig herself out of. A year since she started drowning.

He left her, and it was all her fault. No matter what anybody said, she knew better. It was her fault. If only she had loved a little deeper. Or cared a little more. Or fought a little harder. Or believed in grace, or fate, or karma. Maybe then he would still be here, with his arms wrapped around her, enjoying the fresh morning air coming in through the window. Instead, she was all alone. And she deserved it. Hermione took another deep breath. That seemed to be the only thing to keep her going these days: deep breaths.

“I should probably get up now,” she whispered to the empty room. Hermione had been talking out loud to herself lately, whenever she was alone. It felt nice to feel like someone was listening, even if it were just her own ears. She sat up as the comforter pooled on her lap. Hermione looked at the scratching post in the corner. She hadn’t had the heart to throw away, but it was becoming just another thing that reminded her of all she had lost. Crookshanks passed away about six months ago. Harry had suggested getting another cat, but she didn’t think she had the energy to take care of herself, let alone another being.

Their room looked so lonely. Hermione hated that word. Their. Their apartment. Their room. Their bed. It wasn’t theirs anymore; it was hers. To not use the word “their” was like admitting to herself that Ron wasn’t with her anymore. It pained her to use the word “their”, but it pained her even more not to. The apartment was the perfect size for the two them plus Crookshanks when they first moved in. It was a one bedroom, one bathroom place above Madam Puddifoot’s in Hogsmeade, quiet and quaint. The place didn’t look or feel much like home anymore though. There were no pictures on the walls, no little knickknacks to show someone lived there. Hermione still had their wedding albums, in a box in the back of the bedroom closet, just in case she felt the need to go through it. George had come by a few weeks after Ron left, helped her pack up all of Ron’s things and took them out of the apartment. She was still close to Ron’s family. It was difficult not to be, with a family like the Weasleys, especially since she was still so close to Ginny. She didn’t think it was fair to cut all ties with everyone after what had happened, as much as she wanted to.

If it were up to her, Hermione would rather be left alone, to wallow in the self-pity and not have to get out of bed at all. Instead, she worked at the Ministry of Magic, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magic Creatures, the Head of the Being Division. It was a wonderful job, to be able to do something she loved while feeling like she was making a difference in the world. Especially lately, when it felt more like a stress reliever, a distraction from her own world. Plus working directly in conjunction with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with Harry as Head Auror was a pretty good bonus. She was strong, independent, and able to pick herself back up. She was Hermione Granger, after all. Hermione didn’t need Ron...Well, she did, but that wasn’t really her choice anymore. He made his choice, and she had to pay the price for it. She shook her head, trying to shake the thoughts out of her mind.

“You have plans today. Just stick to the schedule. Don’t let you mind wonder. Don’t forget: you have that date tonight.” Hermione whispered again, as she got up and made her way to the bathroom. Her boss had given her the past week off. Harry must have tipped him off that it was a difficult time of year for her. It was easier to give her the week off than deal with an emotionally charged witch. During the past week, she had been planning out the day, to avoid feeling the weight of it. A walk in the park, a call to her mom, food shopping, a visit to the Burrow, and a date. Her first date since she had started dating Ron, ten years prior.

Ginny had set her up on a date with Oliver Wood, who Ginny knew from Quidditch. She didn’t even bother to tell Hermione until a day beforehand, so it was too late to cancel. The last time Ginny had set her up with someone, Hermione canceled the minute Ginny told her about it; it was no surprise to her that Ginny waited until the last minute to tell her. Ginny thought it would be a great idea, to get Hermione’s mind off of Ron and to help her feel less lonely. Hermione tried explaining that you can’t just get your mind off of seventeen years of memories with your best friend, five years of marriage, and one year of excruciating pain. Hermione told Ginny that she’d go on this one date, but not to keep her hopes up about it.

Between Hermione and her journal, she had been seeing Ron again. Don’t get her wrong. It had been nothing serious, of course. Just a wave in the annex of the Ministry, or a quick “how are you” while passing each other on the sidewalk downtown. Don’t tell anyone though. If anyone found out she had been talking to Ron at all, they would call her crazy. After everything they went through, no one would think she would want to give him a second glance, given how angry she was at him when he left. Hermione knew she should avoid him. She knew seeing him would cause her more pain than he was worth. She just couldn’t help it. Could anyone really blame her?

After Hermione finished showering and brushing her teeth, she threw on a purple tank top and jeans. She looked at herself in the full-length bathroom mirror on the back of the door. She could see her clothes were starting to get baggy again. She took another deep breath.

“Harry will probably say something on Monday,” she told her reflection, finally using her voice, though a bit raspy from underuse. About this time last year, the news of Ron’s four year long affair with Summer Selwyn, one of the assistants he worked with, made the front page of the Daily Prophet; today was the anniversary of Hermione catching them in the act and learning all about it. Hermione had asked her friends not to pick sides, and from what she heard, they were pretty good about it. Malfoy and Ron did end up having a big blow up the day Hermione found Ron, with Malfoy getting escorted out of the Ministry; it had been quite the ordeal, but Hermione tried to stay out of it, not wanting to get caught in the middle of something she was already stuck in the middle of. Ron ended up leaving the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and went to work with his brother George at the joke shop a few days after that. The Summer girl, from what Hermione had heard, quit her job a couple weeks later, and they were living together just outside of London.

Hermione had lost a lot of weight around that time, which had also made the front page of Witch Weekly. She had spelled her clothes to make them fit properly (which she was doing now); she hadn’t wanted anyone to notice the difference. Luckily the people in her office at the time either hadn’t notice or chose not to say anything. Harry and Ginny had noticed though. They had noticed Hermione hadn’t been eating as much and had spent all of her free time sleeping. They were great (though slightly insufferable) friends, alternating lunch and dinner with her to make sure she ate. She thought they even had Draco Malfoy in on it, who offered her the candy dish that sat on his desk every time she needed to go into his office, but she had no proof they had asked him to.

“I’ll worry about that on Monday. Maybe I should get going now. Get myself out of this house.” Hermione gave her reflection an emphatic nod and walked out of the bathroom. The rest of the apartment was just as empty as the bedroom, having only the necessities. Hermione didn’t need much in their apartment (there was that word again). During the time she spent here, she slept anyway, or at least tried to. Other than the bed and the bathroom, there wasn’t much else she needed. She got rid of the dining table and chairs a few months after Ron left, and her writing desk a few months after that. Hermione thought about ending the lease and getting a smaller apartment, since she didn’t really need a living room either. She just couldn’t get herself to part with it, no matter how many times people suggested it. She walked through the apartment to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was as empty as the rest of the apartment; food wasn’t much of a priority anymore.

“Maybe I’ll go food shopping before my walk. It’ll be a great day. It’s all about attitude,” Hermione said, trying to convince herself. She always believed that when you said something out loud, it made it a little more believable. She closed the refrigerator, went over to the front door, and slipped on her flip flops. Hermione took one more deep breath and left the emptiness of the apartment behind her. If only she could leave the emptiness of her heart behind...


	2. Chapter 2

“Mum, I’m fine. I promise,” Hermione said into her cellphone, while walking through Vittles and Nibbles, the food store at the end of Main St. in Hogsmeade. Witches and wizards looked on at her, whispering about her “Muggle contraption” who she ignored.

“I just know this must be a tough day for you. I remember how you were this time last year...” Hermione’s mother, Jean, mumbled through the phone while Hermione picked up a small bag of bread rolls and threw it into her hand basket.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Mum? I’m a grown woman, who is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. I don’t need you to worry about me.” As Hermione spoke those words, she knew she was lying straight through her teeth. She knew she wasn’t able to take care of herself, especially during this time of year. Still, Hermione couldn’t tell her mother everything she was feeling and that broke her heart. Whenever she told her mother anything that was troubling her, her mother instantly went from zero to a hundred on the worry scale; she’d start calling her every day, giving her suggestions on what to do and who to see. It felt more of a burden on Hermione than whatever it was she called her mother about in the first place. The guilt of having her mother worry about her was worse than any other feeling.

“I’m your mother; I’ll always worry about you. Do you want the number for Dr. Benson? He was a blessing for me and your father when we returned to England.” Hermione knew that her mother and father had a tough time when their memories were returned to them. They had needed months of magical and muggle therapy. Hermione knew her mother was just trying to help, but it only added to the guilt.

“No really, Mum. I’m fine,” Hermione reiterated, while grabbing a bag of baby carrots in the vegetable aisle. “You don’t have to worry about me. I have a date tonight.”

“A date?!” She sounded just as surprised as Hermione thought anyone would given the situation. “A date? Why didn’t you tell me? Who’s it with? That Draco boy you’ve mentioned before?”

“Draco Malfoy? No, no. Mum, come on!” Hermione chortled. As difficult as it was to talk to her mother sometimes, she also had the perfect way of helping Hermione forget the loneliness of her world, even if it was only for a moment. “No, it’s with Oliver Wood. I don’t think you ever met him, but we went to school together. Ginny actually set me up.”

“Oh, Ginny! What a doll! I’m sure it’ll be a wonderful time. Maybe soon I’ll hear wedding bells once again?” Jean spoke, teasingly. Hermione shook her head in disbelief, even though her mother couldn’t see her, while bagging a few apples.

“No, Mum. It’s one date. I’ll let you know how it goes either way, but please. Please don’t make a bigger deal of it than it needs to be. Like I said, don’t worry about me. I’m in line to buy groceries. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.” After Hermione heard her mother say she loves her too, she ended the call, stuck her cellphone into her pocket, and proceeded to put her groceries onto the table for the cashier.

“Good morning. Busy day?” Hermione said, conversationally, while the cashier weighed her apples. Hermione always had the notion that you never truly know anything that’s going on in a person’s life. There was no way of knowing if the one brief conversation you have with someone is the only good part of their day. She knew that better than anyone. She tried to live as if every conversation mattered, because one day it might and there was no way of knowing.

“Yeah, pretty busy for a Friday actually,” said the cashier, who had moved on to bagging the groceries for her. “That’ll be three sickles.”

Hermione paid for her groceries with a quick “Thanks. Hope you have a great day!” and started walking toward the park with the bag in tow. As she got closer to the park, she saw only a few children and their parents on the other side. Hermione smiled softly and sat down on one of the available benches, setting her groceries down beside her. It was a beautiful day with blue skies. It was a little warm, being August, but the slight breeze was perfect. If only it would feel as perfect as the weather made it out to be.

“Fancy seeing you here,” said a voice Hermione knew all too well. She turned her head and confirmed her suspicions: Ronald Weasley.

“Hi Ron, what are you up to today?” Hermione said, keeping her voice even. She had a feeling she shouldn’t be there, talking to him, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Not much. I visited the Burrow earlier, but I think I caught everyone at a bad time. They were all getting ready for work, so I didn’t bother going inside. George is covering the store, so I have some time to kill. How are you doing?” He said it in a way that sounded like he was actually worried about her.

“I have a date tonight, in case you cared,” she responded sharply. If he was worried about her, he should’ve thought of that before he ripped her heart out.

“Oh. That’s nice. Anyone I know?” said Ron, clearly trying to ignore the hostility in her voice.

“Oliver Wood. You remember him. He was Quidditch captain on the Gryffindor team during our first few years at Hogwarts,” she said, silently wishing he was jealous.

“Yeah, I remember him. He’s also on the reserve team for Puddlemere United, if I remember correctly. I’m not surprised; you always had a thing for Quidditch players, even though you always claimed not to like the sport,” Ron said teasingly, with a smile on his face, causing Hermione to scoff. “I do want to you to be happy, Hermione. I don’t want any hard feelings, especially after everything we’ve been through...” Hermione’s eyes started to water, but not enough to be noticed by any prying eyes.

“I’m still mad at you. Mad at you for what you did. I’ve tried to understand, but it’s still impossible. Did you even try to explain it all to your family?” Hermione looked down at her hands, not wanting Ron to see her crying.

“Yeah, I’ve tried. Mum seems to be more understanding these days. Maybe try talking to her. I’ve heard you’re still close with my family.”

“Well, it’s impossible not to be. I was going to go to the Burrow later today actually. I’m sure your name will be brought up...” There was silence for a few moments, while Hermione contemplated even returning to the Burrow. It had been a while since she had seen everyone. She was sure only Molly would be there when she arrived, since everyone else was scheduled to be working on a Friday afternoon, except maybe Ginny who was going to be helping her get ready for her date later in the day.

“I hope this isn’t a week’s worth of groceries, Hermione. What’s in here, a few bread rolls and carrots? That’s not all you’ve been eating, is it?” Ron sounded concerned about her, which didn’t surprise her in the slightest; he had always been a great friend.

“No, that’s not all I eat, Ronald,” she responded, emphatically. “Harry and Ginny invite me to their home for dinner all the time. And there are plenty of office parties where I don’t need to bring lunch. You don’t need to worry about me.” It sounded like they were repeating the same conversation she had with her mother only a half hour ago. When could she stop telling people to stop worrying about her?

“Alright, alright. I’m just teasing,” he said, though she knew there was some truth in his words. “Anyway, I’m going to get going. Have a great day and a great date, Hermione. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah, alright. See you,” Hermione sighed, watching him walk away. She gathered up her bag of groceries and started walking in the opposite direction Ron had gone, on her way back to their apartment.

———

Hermione put the carrots and apples in her refrigerator and threw the bag of bread rolls onto the counter, briefly thinking how sad her refrigerator still looked, even after she went food shopping, and how long it would take before the apples went bad and she’d have to throw them away. She went back to the bedroom. She contemplated changing into different clothes before going over to the Burrow before changing her mind back and keeping with what she had on.

People kept telling her that each day would get easier, that she would struggle less and less as each day passed. People kept trying to give advice. “Go see Dr. So-And-So.” “Try getting rid of your wedding band. That helped me when I got divorced.” “Surround yourself with friends. If you’re around people who love you, you won’t feel as lonely.” She had tried all of that, but that only added to the guilt. The only thing that had worked for her so far was sleeping and working. It was easy to avoid your troubles if you just slept through them. For Hermione, it was just as easy to work through your trouble. It was something to focus on, something to work towards, without having to worry about loneliness or exhaustion. During those first few months, Hermione had worked so many extra hours. She pulled a few overnight hours of patrols in addition to her normal schedule to help out the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when they were short-staffed. That worked well until Harry noticed the schedule and told the Head of the DMLE to take her off of it. She even fell asleep in her office a few times to avoid going home, until Malfoy caught her one night when he was working late and ended up telling Harry on her, even though he had promised he wouldn’t. Working through tough times also reminded Hermione of their times in Hogwarts, a much simpler time compared to where she was now.

Hermione took a deep breath and Apparated to the Burrow, knowing the hours would go by much quicker if she were in good company.

“Hermione! Come in, come in. How are you, dear?” Molly said, opening the door wide for her. “I’ve told you that you can just use the Floo to come right in. Why bother Apparating and having to walk the whole way up to the house?”

“I know, Molly,” said Hermione, while walking into the kitchen, “but I’ve told you, I hate using the Floo network. I hate just coming right into your home; I’d much rather walk up and knock.”

“Right, of course. You’ve told me. I’m just preparing dinner. Don’t mind me. Make yourself at home.” Molly had the perfect way of making Hermione feel right home without even trying, without even having to tell her. Hermione took a seat at the kitchen table and started flipping through the newest issue Witch Weekly that was lying in front of her. “So, anything new?” Molly asked, in a way that told Hermione she already knew what was new.

“I’m sure you’ve heard Ginny set me up on date with Oliver Wood. She said she wants to come over later to help me get ready for it.”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Molly said, stirring the pot of beef stew, while wandlessly commanding the dishes to start washing themselves. “That Ginny, I never know what to do with her. It should be a good time at least. I’ve heard he’s a wonderful man, respectable and all that.”

“I’m sure he is,” said Hermione quietly, still flipping through pages absentmindedly. “I’m just not sure I’m ready for it, after everything that’s happened this year...” Her voice trailed off and Molly didn’t reply, knowing when to stay silent as any mother would. “I’ve been seeing Ron lately.” Molly’s stirring hand stopped, and it felt like the world froze.

“You’ve been seeing Ron lately?” Molly repeated. Hermione nodded even though Molly still wasn’t facing her directly.

“Yeah, just little things. A wave from across the pathway, a quick ‘hello’ while waiting in line at the tea shop, that sort of thing. Have you seen him at all lately?” Hermione said quietly, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

“No, it’s been a while since he’s been around. Arthur and I are still very disappointed in him. I think he’s been avoiding us on purpose to avoid the conversation. He must want something out of you, if he keeps bothering you like that,” said Molly, and Hermione wondered if Molly was more concerned about her than her own son.

“Well, it’s not much of a bother, but I know what you mean. This morning I told him I have that date with Oliver, and he took it much better than I expected him to. He told me that he wants me to be happy, that he wants me to move on. I think he just doesn’t want me mad at him for everything he’s done...” Molly finally turned and faced her, with a sorrowful look in her eye. “You think I’m crazy for not letting it go, don’t you?”

“No, dear. I don’t think you’re crazy. I do think he’s right though...Maybe Ginny is right too. Maybe this date with Oliver Wood will be good for you. Maybe—”

“But what if I don’t want to move on?” Hermione interrupted, the hostility from her conversation with Ron returning. “What if I just want everything to go back to the way things were?” Hermione’s vision blurred with tears of anger, as Molly walked over and put her hand lightly on Hermione’s back. Hermione took a deep breath, feeling calmed by Molly’s gesture. “I just miss the way things were, back when I was happy. Why is he showing his face now all of sudden anyway? To let me know he’s fine, that he’s better off than I am?”

“No, sweetie,” Molly said calmly, moving the hand that was on Hermione’s back in soft, small circles. “I think, in his own way, he’s showing you that he still loves you, that he still cares, that he’ll still be there for you, rooting for you, that he’ll still be the best friend he’s always been. I think he wants you to find someone to fill his place. He just won’t tell you that directly; he’s always been too prideful for his own good.”

“If he still loved me and cared and all that, he wouldn’t have caused me so much pain...” Hermione’s voice trailed off, her angry tears turning into sad ones.

Molly took a moment before responding, “I think he knew you two would never work. I honestly don’t think he ever meant to cause you any pain.” Hermione took a moment to take in everything that Molly had said. She took another deep breath.

“No, instead he didn’t think of me at all...Even if I was ready to find someone to fill his place, not that I need someone...but where do I start?” Hermione asked Molly, in a way that said it wasn’t a rhetorical question and that she was really looking for answer.

“Well, that’s the simple part: you go on dates.”

————

Three hours and one nap later, Hermione was feeling much better. Molly had promised her not to tell anyone about Hermione’s troubles, for which Hermione was grateful. She heard a knock on her front door and knew instantly what it was that woke her.

“Hermione?” She heard Ginny call from the other side of the door. “Hermione, I know you’re home. Open the door!” Hermione did as she was asked and instantly regretted the decision. Ginny burst inside the apartment, her arms full of dresses and a large bag. “Thank you! I thought I was going to have to knock down the door!”

“Ginny, what is all of this?” Hermione asked, as Ginny dropped everything, unceremoniously onto the floor of the would-be living room if it had furniture.

“I have to help you get ready for your date. You didn’t forget, did you?”

“No, I know you wouldn’t have let me forget, but Ginny, I don’t need any of this,” Hermione said, as she picked up and examined one of the dresses Ginny had brought with her. “I already know what I’m going to be wearing.”

“You do, huh?” asked Ginny, disbelieving, with a hand on her hip. “And what, pray tell, is that going to be?”

“My little black dress,” Hermione replied emphatically. “The one with the low collar.”

“I know which dress, Hermione. You only own one black dress, and that ‘low collar’ doesn’t even constitute as a low collar. It’s more of a business dress than a date dress. Besides, black isn’t good for tonight. Black is too final, too serious. You need to wear a color that shows warmth and gentleness. I thought you had a subscription to Witch Weekly. Why don’t you read it? Oh! There’s this one!” Ginny could always go from scolding to excited so quickly that it sometimes scared Hermione. “You’ve always looked ravishing in purple hews. Go try it on!” Ginny shoved the periwinkle blue dress into Hermione’s arms and ushered her into the bathroom.

“Fine, Ginny! I’ll humor you with this one dress, but I’m going to be wearing my black one,” Hermione called from the bathroom. “I love that dress. It’s my date; I should be able to wear what I want... Although, you’re right. I do look pretty good in this dress.”

“Come on out then! Let me see it!” Ginny called to her. Hermione opened the door to reveal the dress to her. “I told you! You look gorgeous. You should just keep this one. Now that I’ve seen it on you, there’s no way I’d be able to wear it myself. You should wear it tonight!”

“No, Ginny. I already told you. I’m wearing the black one. Maybe I’ll wear this one on the next date.” Hermione said as she shut the door to change into the black dress that was already hanging on the back of the bathroom door, waiting for her.

“Ooooh! So you think there’s going to be a second date?” Ginny said through the door, teasingly. “I thought you said you were remaining skeptical.”

“I am remaining skeptical. I didn’t say second date; I said the next date. Who knows if the next one will be with Oliver or not?” Hermione replied, opening the bathroom door once again to reveal the black dress to Ginny.

“Well, it’s not an awful dress, but it’s no showstopper. You need a showstopper dress on a first date, especially since it’s your first date in a long time.” Hermione rolled her eyes at that comment.

“I don’t need a showstopper dress. I need to be me. So let me be me, please?” Hermione asked, almost begging Ginny to drop it.

“Okay, okay. At least let me do your makeup and hair though. You know how long it can take, even with magic.”

————

“Alright, I think we’re about done.” A while later, the bathroom looked like a hurricane had gone through it. All the hair and makeup products Ginny had brought with her were now strewn across the sink and floor. Hermione was sitting on the toilet seat cover, while Ginny finished up putting the last few hair strands in place.

“It took long enough. I still don’t know why you’re bothering with all of this. It’s not that big of a deal.” As much as Hermione was fighting it, the past couple hours were the best she had in a long time. It felt nice to have someone to gossip with and talk about the boys in the office or on the Quidditch field. It almost felt back to normal. Hermione definitely missed having Ginny around; Ginny was always traveling and practicing with the Harpies, and having a husband always takes up some of your time. Don’t get her wrong. Hermione was still so happy that Harry and Ginny found each other; she just wished she still had that with someone.

“I’m telling you. It is a big deal,” said Ginny emphatically, while starting to pick up various products off the floor. “Your first date in a very long time. You’d better have a good time, by the way. I’m living vicariously through you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hermione replied, and the two shared a smile. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Hermione quickly looked at her watch. “It’s 7 o’clock already?”

“Apparently. I’ll clean up this mess. Go and have a good time. I want to hear all about it tomorrow. We can do lunch.” Hermione looked at herself one more time in the bathroom mirror and took a deep breath.

“Okay, I can do this. Easy,” Hermione told her reflection. She then turned to Ginny and told her, “Yeah, we’ll do lunch tomorrow. Lock the door when you leave, and thanks again. I owe you one.” They shared another smile, and Hermione walked to the front door. She slipped on her black heels that perfectly matched her dress and opened the door just as Oliver was about to knock a second time.

“Oliver, it’s good to see you,” she greeted him with an easy smile on her face, opening the door wide to invite him in. _You got this. Fake it ‘til you make it._


	3. Chapter 3

“Hermione, it’s good to see you too. You look beautiful this evening. Here, these are for you,” said Oliver, while handing out a bouquet of roses.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful,” she said. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?” _Small talk, easy conversation. No big deal._

“No, no trouble at all. Number six above Madam Puddifoot’s, easy enough to remember. It’s a shame you don’t live closer to an Apparation point though,” he said. Hermione kept herself busy by transfiguring one of her mugs into a vase and rearranging the flowers, as Oliver stuck his now empty hands into his pockets and walked into her empty kitchen, looking around the nonexistent living room. “Did you just move in?”

“No, actually. I’ve been here almost six years.” Hermione kept her voice light but suddenly felt self-conscious about her living arranges; she tried to change the subject. “So what are the plans for tonight? I’m assuming you had more time to prepare for this than I did?” She heard him chuckle as she filled the vase with water.

“Right. Ginny said she still hadn’t mentioned it to you when I saw her on Sunday. I was thinking about dinner at Madam Puddifoot’s, if you’re not sick of it yet, given that you live directly above the place. And then maybe we can walk down to the Three Broomsticks for drinks.”

“I could never get sick of Madam Puddifoot’s,” she replied, relaxing her shoulders and grabbing her purse off the kitchen counter. “They make the most delicious blueberry tea. It’s so perfectly sweet that you don’t even need to add any sugar. Oh, and their watermelon salad is heavenly.”

“Well, sounds like I made a good decision then,” said Oliver, as he led the way out of the open doorway. After Hermione shut the door behind her, they started their walk down the stairs. Luckily, it was only one floor before they reached the entrance of the tea shop. Oliver guided her through the doorway, lightly touching the small of her back. It reminded Hermione eerily of the way Ron used to do just that. She hated it when Ron did that though; it always made Hermione feel embarrassed, as if she wasn’t capable of opening and passing through a doorway by herself. She didn’t bother bringing that up now however.

“Why don’t you grab us a table and I’ll order? Watermelon salad with a blueberry tea?” Oliver sounded so at ease that it helped Hermione feel comfortable.

“Sounds perfect. Thank you,” she nodded. Hermione walked over and sat down at an empty table next to the windows overlooking the pathway. She people-watched for the few minutes while Oliver waited in line to order. Just then, Hermione saw Ron walking down the sidewalk toward the window. He didn’t seem to notice her and just walked right past. Hermione furrowed her eyebrow. I wonder if he’s trying to keep tabs on me.

“You okay?” Hermione looked over at Oliver, who was sitting across from her and setting an order number on their table.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just thought I saw someone I knew,” she said conversationally. “So, what are you up to these days? A lot has happened since Hogwarts.”

“Well, you know I’m on the reserve team for Puddlemere, so that takes up a lot of my time. How’s work at the Ministry treating you?” Hermione was just about to get into her job description when their food was delivered to their table.

“Shepherd’s pie? Yum! You know, that’s Ron’s favorite meal at this place. It’s slightly sweeter than anywhere else you can find it. I think they use grape jelly in their recipe, but the chefs refuse to disclose their secret ingredient,” Hermione said, before taking a sip of her tea.

“Ron?” Oliver asked, with a confused tone of voice that Hermione felt she needed to explain.

“Yeah. You remember Ron, don’t you? My husband?” Hermione tried to keep the lightness of her voice, but she was starting to feel the heaviness of the conversation looming over her.

“Husband? But aren’t you...?” His voice trailed off, as if questioning why he was sitting there with her. Hermione instantly felt the need to change the subject once again.

“Well, I’m sure you remember from the Daily Prophet last year. We don’t need to go down that rabbit hole. Anyway, I’m sure Ginny mentioned I work in the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures...” They fell back into an easy conversation. Work was always a great subject for her; she could talk about the welfare of elves and werewolves forever. After dinner, they decided to take Oliver’s suggestion and walk to the Three Broomsticks for drinks.

“I’m sorry,” said Hermione, breezily, “I’ve been taking up the entire conversation.”

“I don’t mind. It’s nice to hear you talk so passionately about the care of others. It shows your work really means something.” Oliver guided her through the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, his hand once again lingering on the small of her back. The pub was very busy, especially for a Friday night. There were no free tables, so they silently agreed on taking a couple stools at the bar. Hermione made eye contact with Malfoy who was sitting with a few friends in the corner of the pub. They shared a quick nod before he returned to his conversation.

“Still, I’d like to know more about you. Do you have any pets?” Hermione asked, after they put in their orders for drinks, just two butterbeers, one for each of them.

“No, no pets. I’m not quite home enough for a pet. We didn’t have one while I was growing up either, so I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. Do you have any?”

“Not currently. Crookshanks, my cat, half-cat half-kneazle actually, passed away a few months. I’ve been thinking about getting another cat, but I don’t want to feel like I’m replacing him. You know what I mean?”

“Absolutely. He must have been a good pet for you,” Oliver replied, as the barmaid put their drinks down in front of them.

“Oh, he was the best. One time, Crooks cornered a mouse in the corner of our living room. Ron has always been scared of rats and mice ever since third year. He thought the mouse was dead though, so he picked it up without a worry. Well, he must have terrified that poor mouse. It bit him, right on the knuckle of his index finger. Ron screamed so loud and dropped mouse,” said Hermione, laughing at the memory. “Ron was fine, of course, and Crooks ended up catching it in the end. Ron complained about it for weeks though, kept saying we needed to move.” If Hermione wasn’t so caught up in the memory, she would’ve noticed Oliver’s forced laugh as he sipped his butterbeer.

“And there was this one time, when we were visiting my parents. They’re muggles, I’m sure you remember. I had the pleasure of teaching Ron how to use a microwave. He kept insisting it was magic. I mean, how do you explain a microwave to someone, let alone a wizard? My father had tried explaining, but it hadn’t helped him. It was so funny; I couldn’t stop laughing.” Hermione paused to reflect and noticed their drinks were nearly empty. “Would you like another drink?”

“Actually, Hermione, it’s getting pretty late, and I have an early morning tomorrow. Unfortunately, I should get going,” Oliver said, putting down a few sickles onto the counter, not bothering to count them out, as he stood up from his seat. “I’ll see you around some time, huh?”

“Oh. Yeah, okay. Ginny knows how to reach me, if you want,” she said somberly.

“Sure. Have a good night.” And just like that, he was gone, right out the door without a second glance back at her. Hermione stared at the door for a few moments.

“Another drink, dear?” asked the barmaid, bringing Hermione out of her stupor.

“Just some water, please,” said Hermione kindly, as she felt a presence sit down on the stool that just held Oliver’s place.

“Another firewhisky for me, Salma, once you’ve finished serving the lady who is too dressed up to be in a hole like this.” Hermione scoffed as she glanced at him.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Over the past few years, she and Malfoy had slowly become friends. Malfoy worked in the DMLE with Harry, so it had been an easy transition for them. They weren’t as close as she was with Harry and Ginny, but there wasn’t any more bad blood between them. They still used surnames, of course, but it was more out of a force of habit than anything else. He was a good friend to her. He even offered her his spare bedroom at his cottage last year so that she wouldn’t have to spend nights alone; Harry and Ginny certainly hadn’t had (and still didn’t have) the space for her. She never took him up on his offer, of course, but the gesture was still well received.

“Was that Oliver Wood I spotted you with?” Malfoy asked, getting straight to the point.

“Yes, it was,” she said, as she sipped on her water and Malfoy thanked Salma for his drink. “Ginny set me up with him; it was our first date.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. You’ve always had a thing for Quidditch players,” he said, teasingly with a half smirk on his face.

“You sound like Ron,” she scoffed. “It doesn’t matter though. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again.”

“No? Why not?” Malfoy asked, sounding surprised. “As far as I can remember he was an alright bloke, and you looked like you were having a good time.”

“You can have him, if you want him,” she said teasing back, and he laughed quietly at her. “I was having a good time. I think I turned him off though, if I’m being honest.”

“You? A turnoff? Maybe we should ask Finnigan if he knows anyone we can set Wood up with, if that’s the case,” said Malfoy casually, and it was Hermione’s turn to chuckle.

“No, I think I just talked about Ron too much. I can imagine it’d be pretty difficult to stick around when your date keeps talking about another guy,” she said somberly.  
“Hm,” Malfoy hummed, gazing at the glass in his hand, as if contemplating her statement. “Well if that’s his problem, you deserve better than that anyway, someone who isn’t threatened by Ronald Weasley.”

Hermione took a deep breath and breathed out a soft “I suppose.” She then turned her head to the corner of the pub where she had caught Malfoy sitting beforehand, while he took a sip of his firewhisky. “What are you doing here, talking to me? Don’t you have friends you’d rather be sitting with?”

“You wound me, Granger. You are a friend I’d rather be sitting with. To answer your question though, Blaise and Theo don’t handle their alcohol very well; they wanted to turn in early. I was getting ready to leave when I noticed Wood heading for the door without you.”

“No hot date for you then? On a Friday night?” Hermione asked, keeping the teasing nature of their conversation going.

“No. I think it’ll be a while for me. I’m still waiting on a girl,” he responded. This surprised Hermione, but she didn’t let that show on her face. She had never heard him talk about a girl before, but Malfoy had always been secretive about his personal life, even in the handful of Witch Weekly articles over the years. She doubted Harry knew about anything about it either, even though he and Malfoy worked so closely together.

“She must be a pretty special girl if you’re waiting on her, especially when you could have anyone you want,” she replied, not wanting to directly ask him who this mystery girl was.

“Yeah, pretty special...” His voice trailed off as he finished his drink and put a few sickles on the bar top. “Come on, Granger. It’s getting late. I’ll walk you home.” Hermione checked her watch and found it was already almost 11 o’clock, as Malfoy stood up from his stool and held out his hand for her.

“You don’t have to walk me home. I can make it on my own; it’s just up the street,” she said, while taking his hand and gracefully stepping off her own stool.

“I’m assuming if Wood was a decent bloke, he met you at your apartment?” Malfoy asked, while holding the door open for her. She nodded, as she walked through the doorway. He put his hand on the small of her back to guide her out, just like Oliver had. Only this time, it felt entirely different with Malfoy; the goosebumps still appeared, but Hermione thought for just a moment that they weren’t there simply due to embarrassment. “Then the least I can do is escort you home, just as he should have.”

When they got outside, Malfoy put his hands in his pockets, and Hermione fiddled slightly with the strap of her purse. They fell into an easy stride and a comfortable silence. The August night air was perfect, warm but with a slight breeze. Only a couple shops still had the lights on, their owners finishing up the day or preparing for the next. A few couples were sitting closely on the benches or walking side by side, enjoying the last hours of the Friday night.

Just then, Hermione saw Ron again. He was on the other side of the path this time, walking in the oncoming direction, with a long stride. As soon as he passed them, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, but he was out of sight. Hermione saw that Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop was still open and assumed he must have gone in to avoid her seeing him. He’s definitely checking up on me.

“Something wrong?” Hermione heard Malfoy ask and turned her head back toward him. She hadn’t realized she had stopped walking when she got distracted by Ron, but Malfoy was standing about three strides ahead, facing her with his hands still in his pockets.

“Did you see...” she started, turning her head back to Scrivenshaft’s again, but she didn’t see anything worth noting. “Actually, never mind.” Hermione started walking once again, ignoring the urge to look behind her.

“Are you sure?” Malfoy didn’t look or sound convinced that the subject should have been dropped, a scowl appearing on his face.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Come on, it’s only a few more blocks.” They fell once again into a comfortable silence, as he walked her home.

————

“Tell me again. What happened?” Ginny asked, as she paced back and forth in front of Hermione. Apparently the lunch that they scheduled for the day included a cross examination of Hermione’s date. Hermione was sitting on the couch in Ginny’s living room, feeling as if she were on trial. Hermione sighed.

“I told you. We went to Madam Puddifoot’s, where we had dinner and talked about work. We walked to the Three Broomsticks, where we had drinks and laughed. Then he said it was getting late and he had to go. He paid for our drinks and left. There’s nothing else to tell.” Hermione was on her third retelling of the previous night and starting to get perturbed with her best friend.

“How did you end it then? Did you set up another date?” Ginny asked, still pacing. Hermione had the brief thought that if she had a pipe and a hat, she would look just like Sherlock Holmes, ready to blow the case wipe open.

“No. It was more of a ‘see ya ‘round’ type ending.” Ginny stopped pacing and turned toward her, her face scrunched up, looking confused. “I don’t think he was too interested in me, that’s all. It’s no big deal. Honestly. There are plenty of single guys in London. I can meet another one.”

“You won’t though. I know you,” Ginny responded, emphatically, “That doesn’t sound right anyway. He told me he always sort of liked you and was willing to give it an honest shot. What did you say you talked about?”

“Work mostly. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I intimidated him. Maybe I’m too independent for his liking.” Hermione knew what the real problem was. She just didn’t want to admit it out loud to Ginny, or she’d get an earful.

“You talked about work? The entire time?” Ginny asked, skeptically.

“Well, we talked about work while we were at dinner. When we got to the Three Broomsticks, we started talking about pets. I mentioned Crookshanks and that story about when Ron got bit by the mouse, remember? It was a funny little anecdote that fit in perfectly with the conversation.”

“You talked about Ron? How much?”

“I might’ve told a couple stories about him, but I mean, we were best friends for over sixteen years and married for five. It’s impossible not to tell a story without his name being brought up.” Hermione said, trying to convince Ginny that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Ginny didn’t take the bait though.

“That’s what it is then. He probably didn’t want to hear about Ron and your married life,” said Ginny, cracking the case.

“Yeah, but I bring up stories about Ron to you guys all the time. You, Harry, Luna. Even Malfoy doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.” Hermione was feeling even more perturbed with Ginny, to the point of annoyance; it was starting to become a pattern every time Ron was brought up in Ginny’s presence.

“But we’re not the ones you’re trying to date, Hermione. One of these days, you’re going to run out of eligible, good looking bachelors only because you can’t get over Ron. It’s been a year, Hermione. It’s time to let it go. I’m trying to help you here!”

“Maybe I don’t need your help! I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know? I don’t need you or Harry having lunch with me to make sure I eat. I don’t need Luna giving me looks of pity every time she comes into my office. I don’t need Neville giving me a new book every other week to keep my mind occupied. And I certainly don’t need Malfoy walking me home.” Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“We do all of those things because we love you, Hermione, and for no other reason.” Ginny got dangerously quiet. Hermione would’ve felt better if she were screaming at her. “We just don’t want to see you revert back to how you were last year. We almost lost you. I don’t think I could live with myself if something happened to you, and I don’t think anyone else could either.” Ginny’s eyes started watering out of anger. Hermione instantly felt guilty and held out her hands in defeat.

“I’m sorry, Ginny. It was just the heat of the moment, I guess. I know you all love me, and it means so much that you do. Can we just drop this whole Ron thing? And this whole dating thing? Maybe I’m just not ready for dating yet.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ginny said dejectedly. “I’ll drop the whole thing. I won’t set you up on dates, but I’ll let you know if I find out when someone becomes interested. Fair?” Hermione nodded, while sitting back down on the couch, becoming more relaxed and less like she was on trial. “Now, what was that about Malfoy walking you home?” Hermione chuckled, glad to get back to normal conversation.

“Last night, after Oliver left me at the bar. Malfoy sat with me while he had a drink and then walked me back to my building. There’s really nothing to tell. I think he just felt bad for me sitting alone after Oliver left. Oh, by the way, do you happen to know who he might be interested in?” Ginny gave her a confused look as she sat down on the other end of the couch. “I asked him why he didn’t have a date on a Friday night, and he said something about ‘waiting on a girl’. I didn’t want to seem too nosy, so I didn’t ask.”

“Huh. I don’t know anything about that. I know Harry hasn’t mentioned it,” Ginny said, while shrugging with a glint in her eye. “Maybe we can have him find out for us. I certainly don’t mind being too nosy. For all we know, maybe it’s you. He’s always had a soft spot for you, you know.” Hermione gave her a perplexed look and scoffed.

“Oh, please. He wouldn’t want me. I’m too broken for his perfect pureblood lifestyle,” Hermione said but silently doubted her own statement, reflecting on how much Malfoy had done for her over the years, even before the whole Ron debacle.

“Well, you know us girls. We love damaged goods, love feeling like we’re the only ones who can fix the broken. Maybe it’s the same way with guys. Plus, I’d bet anything you want him to,” Ginny replied, grinning suggestively.

“Maybe a little. He is very good looking, isn’t he?” For Hermione, she only thought of Malfoy in that way when Ginny brought it up, and that had only been a handful of times throughout the past year. He was honestly just her handsome coworker, who had slowly become a good friend. “Anyway, can we have lunch now? I’m starving!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave a warning at the beginning of the story for those with depression and anxiety. This chapter especially can be triggering for those who suffer from panic attacks, so I’m just giving another warning. Also, as someone who has panic attacks, I described it similarly to how they happen to me, but everyone’s experience with them is different.

“ _Why_ is my desk overflowing with incoming mail? If I knew nothing was going to get done, I wouldn’t have taken the week off in the first place. _‘Don’t worry, Ms. Granger.’ ‘Everything will be taken care of, Ms. Granger.’ ‘Timothy will handle all your incoming mail, Ms. Granger.’_ What a load of bull.” Monday morning couldn’t come quick enough for Hermione. She had been looking forward to being back at work. Work was always a great distraction. However, looking at her desk now, she wasn’t sure which she wished for more: not taking the week off at all, or not ever coming back to work. She sighed, threw her bag into an empty chair, and started the never-ending task of sorting her mail into piles based on urgency and subject.

“Knock, knock.” She heard a well-known voice at her open door and didn’t bother looking up from her sorting.

“What do you want? I really don’t have the time,” she snipped back.

“Well, I see you’re having a happy Monday back.” Hermione finally looked up from her current parchment stack to see Harry standing on the other side of her desk. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorting a week’s worth of posts into stacks,” she griped, returning her focus to the memo in her hand.

“I thought that was your assistant’s job. Is it not worth his wages?”

“No, he is. Timothy has been very helpful since he started, but apparently nothing can get accomplished when I’m not in the office.” Hermione’s eyes glanced back up to her coworker, noticing the several pieces of parchment in his hands. “Did you need something, by the way?”

“The DMLE has finished the reports on the Crabbe Estate, now that their direct bloodline has officially ended. There are three house-elves at their Manor in Wales that need relocating. I’m just dropping off a copy of the reports.” Harry paused, looking for a place to put the reports, seeing as Hermione’s incoming box was currently buried under parchment.

“You can start a house-elf stack over there, with this one,” she said, waving her hand toward her bookcase, as she handed him one memo and tossed another into the trash bin. Harry put the reports down on top of the bookcase, and Hermione continued flipping through notices.

“I was also wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me today,” said Harry casually, but Hermione heard an ulterior motive in his voice. Before she could give a reply, her boss walked into her office.

“Ms. Granger, so glad to have you back! Mr. Potter, good morning. Quite early in the day to see you. Anything you need?” Mr. Weldon Vassar was the current Head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, a plump, jolly, fifty-something wizard, who reminded Hermione of old Fezziwig from _A Christmas Carol_ by Charles Dickens, with a personality to match. He was always willing to lend a hand, even when he didn’t have the talent to assist.

“I was just dropping off reports for house-elf relocation, sir. Nothing too urgent,” Harry replied, nodding respectfully.

“Great! Well, I just wanted to make sure everything was in order...” Mr. Vassar’s voice trailed off as looked around the hurricane that was Hermione’s office. “Let me know if you need anything! Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Vassar called, as he made his way out the door, not waiting for a response from either of the remaining occupants of the room.

“Well, clearly the ‘anything’ doesn’t count toward helping you sort your mail,” Harry said, jokingly while slightly shrugging his shoulders. “I should be getting back to my own office though. I’ll pick you up at noon for lunch?”

“I have a meeting at eleven. Better make lunch at twelve-thirty, in case it runs long. Is this a work lunch or a friend lunch?”

“A friend lunch,” he said, as he made his way to the door. “Just come up to my office when you’re done instead; that way I’m not too early. Don’t work too hard, Hermione; that’s what assistants are for.” Hermione gave him a casual wave, and Harry nodded and closed the door behind him. She sat down in her chair for first time that morning and put her head in her hands.

“They really like making you work for your time off, don’t they?” she sighed to herself.

————

After her weekly meeting with Heads of the Beast and Spirit Divisions, Hermione made her way back to her office. Luckily, Timothy was sitting at his desk in front of her door. She had not seen him since before her vacation, even though it was already almost noon. Timothy Shepard was a young, tall lad, a new graduate of Hogwarts. From what Hermione knew from the few weeks of working with him, he had a strong work ethic but lacked the attention to detail that Hermione needed. He was a quick study however, and very eager to please her. Perhaps he had heard the rumors that Hermione had scared off all of her previous assistants, the last of which had transferred to the Department of Magical Transportation just two weeks after working under her. Hermione let out a sigh of relief, ready to be able to off load some of her work.

“Timothy, it’s good to see you,” Hermione said, mumbling a “finally” under her breath.

“Mrs.— I mean, Ms. Granger.” Hermione didn’t miss the stumble in his voice but chose to ignore it. She had removed the Weasley part of her surname once the divorce was finalized a few months ago. People still called her ‘Mrs. Weasley’ from time to time, and it still broke her heart. “Good to see you as well. Did you enjoy your vacation? Is there anything you need?” _Very eager to please, indeed._

“My vacation was very relaxing; thanks for asking. I would’ve needed to you to handle all the incoming mail throughout all of last week, like I had asked before I left, but I suppose it’s too late for that.” She didn’t mean to sound snippy, but she also needed him to know how disappointed she was.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Granger.” Timothy looked down at his hands. “I just wasn’t sure how much permission you were willing to grant me. I had tried asking Mr. Vassar earlier in the week what he would do with some pieces of mail, but he always responded the same, that he always just let you handle it.” Therein lay the problem. Hermione was too much of a perfectionist and too much of a walking encyclopedia. She had little control over her personal life and was too wary to relinquish the strong hold she had on her work life.

“It’s fine, Timothy. I’m just having a rough morning back. I’ll handle the mail in my office. There are a couple things I need you to do for me though. I have a stack of house-elf relocations that need to be processed. I’ll need you to set up an appointment with the Auror department for when we can go to the Crabbe estate for the three house-elves there. I’m still going through all my mail from last week. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else I need of you.” She was just about to turn into her office, when Harry rounded the corner.

“Ready for lunch?” He greeted her with a warm smile and a nod to Timothy.

“Yeah, let me just put my notes down,” she said, dropping her journal on the chair just inside her office and shutting the door the door on her way out. “I thought I was meeting you at your office.”

“Well, I was in the area and thought I’d swing by in case your meeting was already over. How’s your morning going?” said Harry, as they fell into an easy conversation on the way to the cafeteria. After they purchased lunch and found a quiet table, the conversation turned.

“Ginny told me about your date with Wood...” Harry’s voice trailed off, knowing full well it was a touchy subject for Hermione, especially from the deep sigh she just gave him.

“Harry, honestly, I’m fine. At least I got a free meal out of it, right? I can always try dating again some other time.” Hermione was quite done with talking about her personal life. She felt she should have the decision on when or if these conversations happen, and not have them shoved down her throat.

“I know, Hermione. I know,” said Harry, understandingly. “Ginny mentioned Ron and all that...” His voice trailed off again, not quite finding the words.

“Harry,” Hermione said emphatically, “I’m really okay. I’m over Ron. I have been for a while. You’ve known this. There’s nothing left to discuss.”

“We just want to make sure you’ll alright, that you’re eating and sleeping well. We really worry about you, that’s all.”

“That’s all I’ve been hearing lately, how much everyone worries about me,” Hermione said, exasperatedly. “If you’re going to worry about me, worry about the everlasting stack of posts I still have to go through. Speaking of which, I’m going to be working late. Are you doing patrols tonight?”

“No, I’m not on the schedule until next week. Seamus and Malfoy are on tonight though. I’ll mention that you’re working late.”

“Oh, to have them check up on me? You don’t have to do that, you know?” said Hermione, standing and clearing the table.

“Not to check up on you,” Harry explained. “Just so they know you’ll be around, you know? As a precaution, that’s all.” Hermione didn’t quite believe his reasoning but dropped the subject nonetheless. “Come on, let me buy you something for dinner. I know by the time you get around to it, everything will be closed. You get too caught up in your work sometimes.” Hermione chuckled lightly at his comment, shaking her head, and followed Harry back to the deli.

———

Like she had told Harry, Hermione was working late, but much later than she had intended. It was already approaching seven o’clock. Everyone had gone home except for the handful of overnight patrolmen. _One more stack. One more stack and then I’ll call it a night._ Except she knew she was lying to herself since she had been saying that for the past three stacks.

“Working late, I see.” Hermione had left her office door open, expecting Harry to have told Seamus or Malfoy to stop by and check on her. The problem was that the voice wasn’t one she had been expecting. She looked up from the current letter in her hand to see the well known red-haired wizard standing in her doorway.

“What are you doing here? You don’t work in the Ministry anymore, you know,” Hermione said perturbed.

“Well, I stopped by the apartment after dinner, but you weren’t home. I figured your office was the next most obvious place to check,” Ron said as he casually walked into her office and sat down in one of the chairs opposite her desk. “How did the date go on Friday? Will you be seeing Wood again?”

“You should know that given that I saw you checking up on me,” Hermione said, scowling and turning her focus back to the letter in her hand.

“I wasn’t ‘checking up on you’. Just because I happened to be in the area doesn’t mean I was there to see you.” Hermione could hear the lie in his voice. “I’m actually curious. Will you be seeing him again?” Hermione sighed and looked back up at Ron.

“If you must know: no, I will not be seeing him again. No thanks to you, by the way.”

“Still too hung up on me, huh?” Ron gave her a smirk that could rival anyone in the Malfoy family, and it was not a look good on him. He put his left foot on top of his right knee in a relaxed posture, which irritated Hermione even further, causing her scowl to deepen. Ron took the hint. “I’m just kidding, Hermione. I do wish it had gone well. I’m sure there will be other dates.”

“You have no business wishing anything for me,” Hermione said coldly. “What’s the real reason you’re here, Ron? It couldn’t be just to ask me how my date went.”

“Hermione,” said Ron, putting both feet back onto the floor and leaned with his elbows on his knees. “Hermione, I just wanted to let you know, before you read it in the Prophet tomorrow, Summer and I are engaged. We’re getting married next month. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you every time we’ve bumped into each other during the past few days. I just haven’t found the nerve.”

“I want you to leave,” Hermione said, dangerously quiet, acting as if she didn’t even here his announcement. “Maybe we can have a decent conversation when I’ve slept more than five hours in the past sixty.”

“Hermione, I truly care about you. I hate the fact that you’re still so angry with me, even after so long. I want you to move on. I want you to find someone—”

“I don’t care what you want!” Hermione yelled, much louder than she intended, vaguely registering the echo of her own voice in the empty hallway. “You left me, remember? I didn’t have a say in the matter, so you shouldn’t have a say in my life either!”

“Then you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life!” Ron said, his voice increasing in volume, but not quite matching hers.

“Good!” Hermione responded violently, slamming the report in her hand down onto her desk, and standing up to confront him. “I’d rather be alone than be with you! You haunting me every day—”

“ _Haunting?_ ” Ron repeated, cutting her off. “You think I’m _haunting_ you? Trust me, Hermione, if I were haunting you, you’d know it! I’m not haunting you! I’m trying to look out for the woman who was once my best friend, my wife!”

“Well, I’m not your wife anymore! And I don’t want you looking out for me! I can take care of myself! I want you to leave! Please Ronald!” Her tone changed suddenly, going from angry screaming to quiet, almost pleading. “Please Ron, just leave?”

“Fine.” Ron sighed and started walking toward her doorway. “I’ll leave for the night, but Hermione, I do still love you and I do still want you to be happy.” Hermione sat back down and returned to the letter on her desk, not bothering to look up. She heard footsteps leave her office, and then it sounded as if they stopped and came back into the doorway.

“Ron, I asked you to leave—” At that moment, Hermione looked up, ready to scold Ron for returning to her office. Except Ron wasn’t standing there, like she expected him to be. Instead, it was Draco Malfoy. Hermione took in a small gasp. “Oh...I thought you were...”

“I know very well who you thought I was, Granger,” said Malfoy, his body tense but his face relaxed, with a concerned look in his eye. “Are you alright?”

Looking back, Hermione wasn’t sure if it was the question, the lack of sleep, the stress of her first day back to work, or the argument with Ron that caused it, but right after Malfoy asked her if she were alright, her body had gone into overdrive.

_I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe? I need to get air. Breathe, Hermione, you can do that. Easy enough. Just breathe. But something’s wrong. My heart is racing. I can hear it pounding, and my chest is burning. Why is my chest burning? I think I’m having a heart attack. I need to cool down. I’m going to pass out. I need to get to the floor. I can’t hit my head if I pass out. Get to the floor. Good, now just get more air. Breathe. Why can’t I breathe? What’s happening to me?_

“Granger? Granger, are you with me?” She heard Malfoy say; at least it must have been Malfoy, since no one else called her that. He sounded so far away.

“I...can’t...breathe...” she said, trying to gulp in air, but it was causing her to wheeze. “I think...I’m...having...a heart...attack...” She tried looking up at him from her place on the floor, but large black spots were fielding her vision. She closed her eyes and put her head into her hands to try to combat the dizziness.

“Okay, I don’t think that’s what this is,” Malfoy said, sitting down beside her, his back against her desk. “I think you’re having an anxiety attack. Here, lean up against me.” She barely acknowledged him as he pulled her up so her back was against his chest, his legs resting around hers. He cupped her left hand into his right hand, palm against palm, and pressed her right hand against her upper chest with his left. “I need you to focus on something other than what’s happening to you. Can you squeeze my hand, Granger? Squeeze my hand as hard as you can.”

Hermione tried to listen to what she was being told. She stared at their joined hands, her vision still slightly blurry, and tried to squeeze his hand with what little energy she had that wasn’t being spent on breathing. “Good. Good job. You can let go.” She heard whispered in her ear, but she didn’t want to let go. It was as if this one hand was the only thing keeping her grounded. She knew her squeeze wasn’t very strong, but she no longer could hear her heart pounding in her ears; it must have been helping. She tried squeezing his hand tighter, not wanting him to let go, and finally felt him reciprocate. “I have you. I’m not letting go.” She could feel her tears streaming down her face; it was all too much. She then felt an increased pressure on the hand that was resting on her chest, feeling her heart and breath rate still way too high. “I have you. I just need you to breathe with me now, okay? Focus on my breathing, and let your breath match mine. In...and out...In...and out...”

Slowly, over the course of what felt like hours, Hermione finally got her breath back; the wheezing now gone; her chest no longer burning; the dizziness slowly decreasing. Her body was slightly trembling, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as what she just experienced. She let her head fall back against Malfoy’s shoulder. His left hand was still resting lightly on her right hand that was laying on her chest, but no longer needing to be pressed hard against her; their other hands lay comfortably on her lap. Hermione took a deep breath, enjoying the air filling her lungs.

“Ron’s been coming around lately,” Hermione whispered, relaying her most precious kept secret.

“I gathered that about fifteen minutes ago. Potter mentioned you were working late. I was on my way to your office to see if you were still here, when I heard you yelling. Has he been bothering you?” he replied, speaking softly in her ear. Hermione nodded slightly.

“A little, yeah. He’s engaged to that girl. They’re getting married next month. He said it’ll be in tomorrow’s Prophet.” Hermione took in another deep breath, to try to stop more tears from forming in her eyes. Malfoy slightly increased his pressure on her hand that was still resting on her chest, reminding her that he was behind her, both literally and figuratively.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, clearly wanting to steer away from the topic of Ron. “Anxiety attacks can really take a lot out of you. I used to have them quite frequently when I was younger.”

“I’m feeling a little better. At least I can breathe now, which is nice. I’ve never had one of those before. Even last year when...Before.” Malfoy nodded slowly against her head. “If you could not tell Harry about Ron, I’d really appreciate it. He nor Ginny know he’s been around lately. I just don’t want to get a scolding.”

“It’s not my place to mention it,” he replied, confirming her secret was safe for the time being, “but if he starts to become a problem, I’m going to have to do something.” There were a few quiet moments with only the sound of their breathing breaking the silence.

“Malfoy?” She waited until he hummed in response. “Do you ever wake up disappointed?”

“Um...I don’t...” There was a questioning hesitation in Malfoy’s voice. He moved his hand from her chest up to her shoulder, hugging her gently. The tears that had formed in her eyes were once again silently falling down her face.

“Do you ever wake up wishing you were somewhere else or some _one_ else or some _when_ else? Like where you are isn’t where you should be? Wake up feeling like your body is too heavy to get up, but you have to force yourself anyway? Wake up wishing you could just escape it all?” Her voice was trembling just as much as her body was. She didn’t describe it perfectly, but it was the only way she could think of how to word it.

“I used to. For me, it felt more like a dementor hovering over you, but you open your eyes and realize it’s just you and just your life. It took a long time for me to shake it, but I know exactly how you’re feeling. You’re not alone in it,” he said honestly. “Granger, I know you hate hearing suggestions, but maybe you should try talking to my mother. She went through quite a difficult time when my parents divorced.”

Hermione didn’t respond right away. Malfoy’s comment was almost left in the air, forgotten, until she said, “It’s not quite the same thing, is it? Your mother _wanted_ to leave him.” Hermione hoped it hadn’t come across condescendingly; she was just being honest. She heard Malfoy sigh in her ear.

“No, I don’t suppose it’s the same thing, but you couldn’t possibly want to take a trip to Azkaban to chat with my father, could you?” he asked jokingly, and Hermione felt a foreign, small smile appear on her lips. “Still, I think it would help.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, appreciating the sentiment. “Speaking of offers, remember last year, when you offered me your spare bedroom?” She waited a moment until she felt him nod against her head. “Is that offer still on the table? I just don’t want to be alone tonight, in case...in case...” Hermione’s voice trailed off, not wanting to mention the mess she just got herself caught in. She took in another shaky breath, reminding herself to keep breathing.

“For you, Granger, that offer is always on the table. We can even deem my spare room as your bedroom, if you want it to be.” His voice sounded light, as it always did when he teased her, but then it changed quickly back to concern. “If you’re worried about being alone though, I’m still on patrol from another hour and a half, until our shift change at nine.”

“Well, if I get a change of clothes, take a shower, and maybe eat something, by the time I get back to the office, it’ll probably be past nine o’clock.” Hermione didn’t want to seem desperate, but she didn’t want her body to spiral out of control again with no one there to help her through it. Hermione felt Malfoy nod his head, once again against hers. She closed her eyes, feeling overcome by exhaustion, and took another deep breath, this one as a breath of relief.

The two sat still like that for a little while longer, neither wanting to disrupt the peace that had filled the room. Then one of the grandfather clocks down the hall rang, signaling that it was 7:30. “I have to get back to patrols,” Malfoy said finally, a slight disappointment in his voice. “I’ll meet you back here after my shift is over, and we can Floo over to my cottage. Sound good?” Hermione nodded and slightly increased the pressure of her hold on his hand that was still lying in her lap. Sensing the apprehension in her, Malfoy was the first to stand and held onto her hand to help her up.

“I think I’m done with work tonight,” she said after getting her bearings. “I still have so much to get caught up on, but I don’t think I’ll be able to focus on it anyway. I’ll head home for a little while, and then meet you back here. Only for tonight though, okay? I don’t want to become a burden.” Malfoy froze, his face hardened and his hand still holding onto hers.

“Granger, you _could_ never and _will_ never be a burden. Don’t ever let yourself believe that you could be, and don’t ever feel guilty for asking for help. Remember, you’re not alone in it,” he told her emphatically, and in that moment, she wanted so badly to believe him.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Hermione felt the most rested she had felt in a really long time, possibly ever. The pepperup and dreamless sleep combination potion that Malfoy had given her the night before had truly done wonders. She walked into her office feeling rejuvenated. Upon entering, she saw two copies of the Daily Prophet, one on top of the other, with a note and an apple on top. Malfoy had told her the night before that he had an early day scheduled and wasn’t home when she left his cottage for work that morning. She knew it was his doing from their conversation about Ron’s upcoming announcement the previous night in her office.

_I took the liberty of removing the Weasel article from the top copy of the Prophet, in case you can’t stomach looking at his face. I know I had a tough time with it. Be sure to eat something. - DM_

Hermione smiled at the note. Against her better judgment, she moved the top Daily Prophet off the stack and saw Ron’s face staring back at her, with the beautiful, younger witch on his arm. Taking a bite of the apple that Malfoy had left for her, she began to read.

_Ronald Weasley and Summer Selwyn Announce Their Engagement_  
_Article written by Rita Skeeter_  
_Mr. Ronald Weasley and Ms. Summer Selwyn are set to wed on September 19th of this year. Almost a month away, folks! When asked why their engagement will be shorter than average, Ms. Selwyn replied, “I’ve waited five years to become a Weasley. I just don’t want to wait any longer!” It’s become quite clear that both Mr. Weasley and Ms. Selwyn are eager to tie the knot. I’m not sure about you readers, but this writer sure wishes the two of them the happy ever after ending they’ve both been waiting for! Continuation on page 2. (Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley’s ex-wife, was unavailable for comment upon issue date of article.) Engagement Photos Pages 2-4. Happy Couple History Pages 5-8._

“Happy ever after? I give them a month at best,” Hermione muttered bitterly, as she threw the finished apple core hard into her trash bin, causing it to topple.

“I see you got your copy of the Daily Prophet,” said Harry as he walked into her office with a journal in his hand. “I’m expecting my invitation any day now. I wonder if I’ll be asked to be best man this time around, since I was last time.” He sounded just as bitter as Hermione felt, and that made her smile. “Did you notice the date by the way? September 19th?”

“Yeah, I noticed. I chose to bypass that fact; there’s still hope it was a misprint, right? And unavailable for comment by the way? Skeeter never even asked me. How would she know if I was unavailable for comment? I swear, that woman has always hated me.” Hermione rolled her eyes, tossed the Daily Prophet with Ron’s face on the cover onto the fallen trash bin, and started glancing over the one and a half pages of the Prophet that Malfoy had left for her.

“She’s not as awful as she used to be, not that I’m defending her. It’s just better than if she had interviewed you and then wrote about the ghosts of your past. Would you rather have that?”

“No, I suppose not,” Hermione chortled at the memory of fourth year. “Anyway, what are you up to today?”

“I have my weekly meeting with my team this morning. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were alright,” Harry said, righting the trash bin and tossing the fallen Prophet inside it for her.

“I am. Don’t worry about it. I’m honestly getting over the whole Ron thing. As long as nothing else gets thrown my way. As bitter as I am, I think I’m finally on my way to being happy for him,” Hermione said, feeling more confident in that statement by the minute.

“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, even if it is use listen to you complain, okay? Anyway, I need to get going. I’ll see you later.” They shared a smile, and Harry headed for the door.

“Hey, Harry?” Hermione caught him before her was too far through the doorway, and he turned to look at her. “Just, thanks. For everything you and Ginny do for me. I really appreciate it.” He gave her an understanding nod and finally started walking down the corridor. She truly wasn’t sure what she would do without her friends; they meant the world to her.

————

After her morning meetings, which always went well given the great people she worked with, Hermione walked back to her office. As she turned the corner, she saw Timothy sitting at his desk in front of her office. He had been a few hours late for the second day in a row. Hermione took a deep breath, dreading the fast approaching conversation, not wanting to lose another assistant.

“Timothy, about this morning—“ she had started, but Timothy instantly cut her off.

“I know, Ms. Granger. I know you’ve said that you hate having people in your office without you there, but he insisted what he needed to drop off was urgent,” Timothy rushed. Hermione gave him a puzzled look.

“Is this about Mr. Malfoy being in my office this morning? I didn’t think you were in yet. I’ve told you though, I don’t mind him or Mr. Potter—“ but again, Timothy interrupted her.

“No, Ms. Granger. Mr. Weasley, Ronald Weasley, stopped by to drop off a notice during your morning meeting. I tried to take it from him, but he distinctly said that it was for your eyes only. He was in your office, but I made sure he didn’t touch anything other than dropping the notice on your desk. I asked him to leave promptly after that.” Timothy’s rushed voice changed into a worried one upon seeing the concerned look on her face. “I’m sorry, Ms. Granger. I should have been more adamant about taking the letter from him.”

“No, no. It’s fine, Timothy. I’ll take care of it, and forget about what I was going to say before. It’s not important anymore,” she replied, waving her hand at him carelessly. Hermione didn’t want her one good assistant in the past year to leave and decided that this was not a battle she wanted to pick.

Hermione walked into her office, staring at the foreign envelope that was now lying on her desk, with a piece of parchment with the clearly rushed words, “Sorry I missed you.” Curiously, Hermione picked up the intricately designed envelope and proceeded to open it. She slowly pulled up the card stock that was inside the envelope. With the words “You are cordially invited” barely showing at the top, she instantly knew what it was, and she became just as instantly enraged. She stormed out of her office and found out quickly from Timothy that Ron had mentioned visiting Percy in the Department of Magical Transportation. She marched down the corridor and into the lift that had just opened up to carry her to sixth level.

“You look like you’re having just as good of a morning as I am,” Malfoy said sarcastically as Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Now, why would you say that? Did _your_ ex-husband invite you to his upcoming wedding to the girl he was having an affair with during roughly the entire length of your marriage, which is also being held on your birthday? It must be small world, if that were true,” she said menacingly, the card stock now clenched in her hand. Just as Malfoy was about to reply, the lift door opened to the sixth floor and Hermione marched down the hall without a second glance. She didn’t stop until she reached her Undesirable No.1.

“What the hell is this?” Hermione asked, shaking her card stock filled fist at Ron, who was sitting nonchalantly behind Percy’s desk, feeling briefly grateful that no one else was in the room. He sighed as he sat up.

“We sent out our invitations this morning. I wanted to hand deliver yours, but your assistant said you were in a meeting,” Ron said, as if that were a clear enough explanation.

“No, I get that,” said Hermione, shaking her fist one more time. “ _Why_ do I have one?”

“Oh, that,” Ron said, finally understanding what the issue was. “Well, it was Summer’s idea actually. She said that since you were the reason we got together in the first place, it would be nice if we invited you.” He said it so conversationally, so relaxed, that Hermione’s vision was becoming blurred with angry tears. She couldn’t find the words to respond. Ron kept talking to fill the silence. “Plus, my whole family will be there. You’ll feel right at home with everybody. It won’t be drab like last time, at the Burrow, either. We’re having it in a grand ballroom, Summer’s parents’ manor. It’ll be beautiful, Hermione. You’ll love it.”

Hermione could not express in one word what she was feeling in that moment. It was a combination of anger, sadness, and disappointment. She took a deep, shaky breath to control the inevitable tears and said softly, “I’ll try to be there.” She walked out of the office without a response from Ron, down the hallway, into the lift, and back to level four. She felt proud that she was able to keep her tears at bay. Hermione then turned the corner to her office and saw Malfoy chatting casually with Timothy. She cleared her throat to make sure she’d be able to talk with no rasp in her voice and blinked away the lingering tears.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione called as the two gentlemen turned their heads to look at her, “is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually,” he said in his drawl that he usually only used only at work. “May we use your office for some privacy?” She nodded, and he guided her into her office, his hand resting on the small of her back. It brought her back to her date night last week, and it was hard to believe it was only five days ago. As he shut the door behind him, he continued, his tone changing to that of a concerned friend, “Are you alright?” Hermione looked down and took another breath, remembering the last time he asked her that question, the previous night which seemed so long ago. The tears were slowly returning.

“No, I’m not,” she whispered, as she hugged her arms around her waist, as if trying to physically hold herself together. “Ron invited me to his wedding. He made it sound like it was a privilege. He said that I was the reason they got together in the first place; without me, they wouldn’t have found each other. It’s like they’re grateful for my misery.”

At that, Malfoy closed the small distance between them and wrapped his arms around her shivering form, slowly rubbing his hand up and down her back to calm her. Hermione rested her head against his shoulder, facing away from him, and let her words flow just as freely as her tears. “I’m not hung up on Ron; I don’t want anyone to think I am. I don’t love him anymore. I haven’t in a long time. How could I possibly love someone who caused me so much pain, you know? But it still hurts so bad. All the ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’ keep running through my head. I still feel just as broken as that first day, you know? Just as angry, just as disappointed, just as betrayed, just as...” Her voice trailed off, not finding the word she was looking for.

“Deceived?” Malfoy helped, and Hermione nodded against his shoulder.

“I’m not ready to forgive him. I don’t think I ever will be. How do I shake this feeling though? I hate feeling like this.” Hermione took another deep breath, her vision slightly clearing.

“I think,” Malfoy started and then paused to collect his thoughts. “I think it would be better for your peace of mind if you did. Forgive him, I mean. Sometimes, forgiveness isn’t for the person who had done wrong, but for the person who has been wronged. You forgave me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t pretend to be someone you weren’t,” she replied softly.

“I did actually. It’s quite different from what you’re going through though.” His response sounded cryptic. Hermione lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him and scrunched up her face in confusion. He paused to remove one of his hands from around her to push a lock of her hair to behind her ear. “You’ve already won one war, Granger. This is just one more. Except this time, I’m fighting along side you.”

“And Ron’s not,” Hermione said, sighing dejectedly.

“Yeah, but he’s got nothing compared to us. Best in our year, remember? Not that there was much competition,” Malfoy replied, his well known smirk appearing on his face, causing her to smile slightly.

“Hey now,” she said, her smile increasing but not yet reaching her eyes, “haven’t you learned by now not to underestimate people? Neville has started teaching a few of Professor Sprout’s classes.”

“Right, because Longbottom has always been someone I’ve strived to be more like,” his sarcastic drawl returning, making Hermione’s smile turn into a quiet giggle. Malfoy rested his lingering hand onto the indent between her shoulder and her neck, his smirk softening. “How about I take you out for drinks on Friday? You already look like you need one, and it’s only Tuesday.”

“I don’t need pity drinks from you, Malfoy. I get enough pity as it is.” she said, poking fun at her own dilemma.

“No, not pity,” Malfoy said, trying to backtrack his words. “It was more Potter’s idea anyway. He said something about how I need to stop pining over a girl? You know anything about that?”

“Okay!” Hermione said, stepping backward out of his embrace and putting her hands up defensively. “I did not say anything to Harry, and I did not use the word pining.” She internally groaned, not wanting him to think she was talking about him behind his back, especially about his own private matters.

“It’s fine, Granger,” he said, chuckling at her expense. “I’m just teasing you. Still, a night out might do you some good. Consider it a redo of your date with Wood?”

Before Hermione could respond to his request, the door opened. Ginny walked tentatively into the room, after noticing the company. Hermione was grateful Ginny hadn’t marched into the room five minutes beforehand.

“Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting?” Ginny turned her attention to Hermione. “We had plans for lunch. Timothy isn’t at his desk. I figured you might have gotten caught up with work again, so I just let myself in.”

“No, no. You weren’t interrupting anything. We were just talking about work stuff,” Hermione said, giving a glance to Malfoy, hoping he would follow her lead.

“Just about the Crabbe estate house-elves,” he said, picking up Hermione’s signal. “Potter mentioned wanting an Auror to go with you, even though the estate has already been raided and cleared multiple times. I’ll schedule a portkey for next Tuesday afternoon.” Malfoy nodded his goodbye to both ladies and started for the door. Just as he was about to close the door behind him, Hermione called out.

“Malfoy?” She waited for him to turn his head toward her, locking eyes. “It’s a date.” His small smirk returned as he nodded and finally closed the door behind him.

“What was that?” Ginny said suddenly, pulling Hermione out of her stupor.

“What was what?” she said innocently, busying her hands with flatting the wedding invitation that had been wrinkled from being so tightly clenched.

“That. That ‘it’s a date’ thing,” said Ginny with a poor imitation of Hermione, gesturing toward the closed door. “Was that flirting? Was Hermione Granger trying to flirt with her cute coworker? That did not sound work-related by the way. Tell me what that was, and don’t you dare lie to me!” Hermione rolled her eyes at her best friend.

“It’s nothing, Ginny. Honestly. We’re going out for drinks on Friday night, just to help get over this hell of a week. It’s hardly a date. I don’t know why I said it was,” Hermione tried reasoning. Ginny continued on, not bothering to listen to Hermione’s explanation at all.

“Look at my little girl: getting dates all by herself, without her needing me to walk her through it, all grown up.” Ginny sniffed and wiped an imaginary tear from her cheek. Hermione rolled her eyes once again. “I’ll have to help you get ready for it. We can’t have you going out on Friday night looking like how you do now—”

“Excuse me!” Hermione interrupted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She took a plain parchment and transfigured it quickly into a mirror to look at herself. “Ugh! I look awful! My tear stained face. No wonder he said I look like I need a drink. Stupid Ron. Stupid girl. Stupid wedding. Stupid—”

“Hey!” Ginny said, stopping Hermione from continuing her rant, and transfigured the mirror back into parchment. “Don’t think about my brother and his wedding right now. You don’t need that negativity today.”

“Well, I don’t know how I have a choice, seeing as I have to go,” said Hermione, waving the elegant, invitation-filled, slightly wrinkled envelope, while Ginny gave her a shocked look. “Oh! He invited me to his wedding, said it was _her_ idea to invite me.”

“Why would it be _her_ idea?” Ginny asked as they walked into the hallway and Hermione shut the office door behind her. “I’m surprised you were even thought of, since you weren’t thought of at all during the four years of their affair.” The malice in her voice put a smile on Hermione’s face, knowing she had Ginny in her corner.

“According to Ron, they wouldn’t have gotten together without me. Why wouldn’t I get an invitation for being the reason the happy couple are even getting married in the first place?” The self pity Hermione was originally feeling while relaying the story to Malfoy had changed into irritation.

“He said that?” Ginny said, as they walked into an empty lift to get to the cafeteria. “He actually said that? I’m not surprised. He has never been articulate, never been one to understand the words that comes out of his mouth might actually hurt someone. This is so typical. I’m going to hex him so badly the next time I see him. I swear it.”

“You might have to get in line,” Hermione replied. The lift opened up and they began walking toward the cafeteria. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy got suspended again for punching him.”

“Malfoy’s too smart for that,” Ginny said. “He’d probably instigate Ron into throwing the first punch. That way he’d be able to claim self-defense, especially if it’s at the Ministry, since Ron doesn’t work here anymore. Either that, or drag him into an alleyway in Diagon Alley. He is an Auror after all; he could find a way to get around all the laws.”

“I think Malfoy has finally got his rage under control though. Ron has just always been able to get under his skin. The two of them have quite the history, huh?” said Hermione, as they finally reached the food line. “Speaking of Malfoy though, have you heard anything from Harry? Malfoy mentioned Harry accused him of pining after a girl?” At that, Ginny started chuckling.

“Harry hasn’t said anything to me, but maybe you can get Malfoy’s mind off of that girl. You’ll have to be just perfect to keep his attention though, if he is pining.” Hermione rolled her eyes, as the line moved up.

“Like I said, it’s not a date. We’re just going out for drinks. Plus, it’s Malfoy. Even if it was a real date, it’s not like it could go anywhere. I was just curious if you knew anything. Anyway, enough about me. How’s the season going? You’ve had a couple games since the last time we talked...” Hermione didn’t want to talk about Malfoy, Ron, nor the impending wedding any longer, and she was grateful that Ginny took the bait.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is honestly one of my favorite chapters so far. Hopefully you all enjoy it as much as I had writing it! And thanks so much for all your kudos and comments!

Conveniently for Hermione, the rest of the week went by fairly smoothly. No further issues with Ron, and her desk was finally clean enough that she could see the wood. After the workday on Friday, she went home to get ready for her “not-a-real-date date” (which is what she had started calling it) with Malfoy. When she went through the Floo network of her building and started walking toward her apartment, she saw that her door was already slightly ajar. Hermione pulled out her wand from her front pants’ pocket and inched the door open. Looking at the sight before her, she sighed and lowered her wand back down.

“Ginny! What are you doing here? You nearly scared me half to death!” Hermione scolded her best friend, who was currently laying out about a dozen different dresses onto her empty living room floor. She walked into her apartment, shut the door behind her, and threw her purse onto the kitchen counter. As she walked further into the apartment, she grimaced at the dress choices laid out before her. “Honestly. I thought we had already decided on the pale purple dress from last week!”

“We did,” Ginny responded, looking up at Hermione from her seat on the floor. “I know we did. I just thought that since we know that color looks so good on you, we can pick something with a better cut and then just transfigure the color. I personally like this dress the best.”

Hermione looked over at the dress to which Ginny was pointing. It was a silky piece of fabric that had the neckline drape much too low and the skirt much too high for her liking. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of it. “Dress? Is that what you call it? It looks more like a nightie to me. Ginny, I’m not going to bed with him.”

“Maybe you should. It wouldn’t be worst thing.” Ginny smirked up at her with eyes that told Hermione she wouldn’t be against it, and then turned her head back to the dresses. “Fine. What about this one?” The two women chatted about fabrics, necklines, skirt length, and patterns for a while. Hermione turned down all the new dresses Ginny had brought over and insisted on sticking with the original pale purple dress that was currently still hanging on her bathroom door from last week. Ginny packed up all the unchosen dresses while Hermione changed. Just like the week prior, Ginny helped Hermione with her hair and makeup, with Hermione resisting the fussing over her hair (“It’s not a real date. Honestly!”). Before long, there was a knock on her front door, and Hermione was brought back to the disaster of last Friday.

“Have fun. And remember, I’m still living vicariously through you, so don’t be afraid to get your feet wet. I’ll see you later,” Ginny said while giving her a brief hug, and then Apparated out of the apartment with her bags. Hermione took a deep breath and shook her head, trying to get the butterflies in her stomach to settle down. _Why are you so nervous anyway? It’s just drinks. Just drinks with a guy you’ve known for years._ She walked through her apartment and took another breath before opening the door slightly, revealing Draco Malfoy, standing there all dressed up in typical grey business robes, as if he had just come from his office. He had his left hand in his pants’ pocket and the other holding a bouquet of carnations.

“Granger,” he greeted her so causally, like it was just another day in the office, “are you going to invite me in or...?” His voice trailed off as he raised his eyebrows at her questioningly.

“Oh..um..” Hermione stammered, looking behind her shoulder at the empty room. She was reminded once again of her date with Oliver. She had felt so uncomfortable when he walked around her empty apartment, silently criticizing her way of living. She was still trying to come up with an excuse to avoid a similar situation when Malfoy started talking again.

“Come on, Granger. I’ve been inside your apartment before. I already know how sad it looks. I’m the one who picked up your writing desk, don’t you remember?” Malfoy replied. It felt so unusual that his teasing could now put her at such ease, when it used to do nothing but rile her up. She smiled as she pulled the door fully open and moved slightly out of the way to let him into the apartment.

“Of course I remember,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t stop complaining about how many charms you needed to do and how long it would take to get rid of that, what did you call it? That ‘Weasley smell?’”

“Yes, and I’ll have you know it took weeks to get it out. Good to know you finally got that smell out of your apartment. I wonder how long that must have taken.” Hermione knew he was still teasing her, but there seemed to be some seriousness in his words. She watched him look around her empty apartment, just as Oliver had, but his expression didn’t have show the same reproach that Oliver’s had. His expression was one of concern more than anything else, and that puzzled her.

“Here,” he continued, after turning his body toward her, and handed out the carnations that were still in his hand, “these are for you, and you look beautiful this evening.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, shocked that he would bring her flowers on this not-quite-a-date date.

“Why the surprise?” Malfoy asked, while she took the flowers from him. Hermione magicked one of her mugs back into a vase, repeating her actions from the week before. “Were you expecting roses? I’ve always found roses die much too quickly unless they remain on the bush. The Manor has a beautiful rose garden that my mother prides herself in. I could give you a tour sometime. Speaking of which...” He stopped his sentence short, while she finished filing the vase with water. Hermione turned to look at him before he continued, his eyes still full of concern. “Did you end up corresponding with my mother, like I had mentioned on Monday?”

“No, I didn’t actually. I’m still mulling it over. I never thought you parents liked me very much...” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she started to bite her thumb nail, a nervous habit she had never been able to kick.

“You know that’s just my father. My mother adores you. I still think it’s a good idea to talk with her. Hopefully you won’t ‘mull it over’ for much longer. You ready to go?” he asked, walking toward the door.

“Yeah, sure,” she replied, though not sounding sure, as she reached for her purse. “How was the rest of your week?”

“Pretty mundane,” he said, his casual tone returning, walking out the door in front of her so she could close and lock the door behind her. They fell into an easy conversation about the politics of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as they walked down the stairs of her building and down the path toward the pub, enjoying the fresh August air. They walked into the Three Broomsticks, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back, causing Hermione to smile. She grabbed a table in the back of the pub, while Malfoy paid for their drinks.

“I just can’t imagine Alicia dating Connor. Didn’t she just break up with Patrick last week? Patrick must have lost it when he found out,” Hermione said, when Malfoy came back from the bar with her butterbeer and his firewhisky.

“Well, you’re obviously more in tune with the gossip than I am. He did lose it. He ended up punching O’Neal in the face, caused quite the brawl. He’s been suspended from the Ministry until the paperwork clears. I have to cover a couple of his overnight patrol shifts next week,” he complained as he sipped his drink.

“I’m sure you’re used to the regulations. Remember when you punched Ron, broke his nose,” Hermione said with a giggle, the smile reaching her eyes.

“Which time are you referring to?” His eyes smoldering with fire at the mention of Ron’s name, causing her little giggle to intensify.

“That’s true,” she said in her fit. “How many times have you punched him now? Three?”

“I think we’re on number four now,” Malfoy responded questioningly. He pointed to each of his fingers, as if mentally counting, and then nodded and smirked at her. “Pretty sure it’s four. Good to know me punching him makes you laugh. I’ll be sure to add that to the list.”

“Anyway,” Hermione said, her laughter dying down, “I was talking about last year, when I came into your office crying.” She stopped to take a sip of her butterbeer; Malfoy’s eyes remained focused on her, as if concentrating on each word. “Remember? I came into your office. Harry was pounding on your door, calling for me, but I begged you not to let him in; I was too upset with him. I asked you if you remembered what you said to me on the train to Hogwarts for our eighth year...”

“‘One of these days, Granger, you’re going to realize he’s not good enough for you. I just hope it’s long before he proves it.’ I remember. Unfortunately, I don’t remember much after that. I ` think I blacked out with rage,” Malfoy interrupted somberly, taking another sip of his firewhisky.

“I told you about finding Ron. I asked you if you had known about it, but you obviously hadn’t. ‘Blacking out with rage’ is a good descriptor. You had murder in your eyes, stormed right out of your office without another word. Harry and Seamus had to pull you off of him.” Hermione sighed, remembering the day.

“I think you’re going to need something much stronger than butterbeer, if we’re going to keep going with this conversation. Have you ever had firewhisky?” Hermione shook her head earnestly, while he passed her his tumbler. “Have a sip. You might like it.” She looked at him questioningly, wondering if she’d be able to get out of it. Knowing she wouldn’t by the look in his eye, she took a very hesitant sip, the alcohol barely reaching her lips. She instantly knew it was a bad idea; her entire throat began burning. Malfoy started laughing at her, probably based on the horrible grimace she was making.

“How can you drink that? No wonder they call it firewhisky,” Hermione asked him, sticking out her tongue to release some of the heat. Malfoy’s laughter died down, as she took a drink of her butterbeer to rinse away the lingering burning sensation. “I don’t want to waste good alcohol. I think I’ll pass on it.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t call it good,” he replied, taking his glass back from her. “There’s much better alcohol in the cellar at the Manor. Firewhisky is an acquired taste though. We have an aged apple wine that I think you might enjoy. I can pick you up a bottle next time I’m there if you want. My mother says it’s a lady’s drink.”

“Like that girl you say you’re waiting on?” Hermione wasn’t sure what made her ask that; maybe it was the half a sip of liquid courage. She tried to keep her voice light. They always teased each other back and forth, so she hoped he didn’t think anything of it. Luckily for her, he kept that feel of the conversation going.

“Jealous, are you, Granger? You want to know about the girl who has my heart? It wouldn’t surprise me; you’ve always felt the need to know everything about everything. So, what do you want to know?” He said it sincerely, as if he were actually willing to answer any question she asked. She looked down at her half-full drink, stirring it thoughtlessly with the straw.

“Will you tell me about her?” Hermione asked, then tried backtracking a little, her eyes still on her drink. “You don’t have to, of course. I’m just curious about what makes her so special.” Malfoy took such a long moment before speaking that she almost changed the subject completely.

“She’s insufferable,” he replied finally, so emphatically it caused her to look up from her drink in surprise. He was gripping tightly onto his nearly empty glass in his left hand.

“She’s _insufferable_? How is the first word you say to describe a girl you like _insufferable_? How is she insufferable?” she huffed exasperatedly, putting her hands in her lap, her drink now forgotten.

“She bites her nails when she’s nervous,” he said simply. “Unless she’s in formal company, then she plays with her hair; she probably doesn’t want people to know she has the bad habit. She covers her mouth when she laughs, probably a childhood insecurity she hasn’t been able to quite get rid of. She bites her lip when she concentrates, especially while working. She scrunches up her nose when she gets confused. She’s so bossy, always needing everything to go her way. She can’t wear heels, looks like a deer learning how to walk every time she wears them. She has this hair, not hair you can run your fingers through; it’s more like hair you want to grip onto.” Hermione’s eyes glanced briefly to Malfoy’s empty hand, which flexed as if it were holding onto the hair he was just describing. He seemed to be lost in thought. She was just about to respond when he continued his description of girl who caught his fancy.

“She has these eyes, such fire in them. She’s so passionate, too passionate to the point of annoyance sometimes. She cares so deeply about everyone else that she forgets to take care of herself. She gets so caught up in her work that she forgets to eat. She doesn’t eat breakfast; I gave up reminding her a while back. She drinks her coffee with way too much cream and sugar in it, while I’ve always liked my coffee strong and bitter; I suppose that perfectly describes our personalities. She’s perfect, absolutely perfect, and she’s insufferable because she doesn’t realize it.” Hermione took a deep breath as Malfoy came out of his stupor.

“How can you say she’s perfect, when you just listed a bunch of flaws and reasons not to be with her?” Hermione’s eyes started to water, beginning to think of all the arguments she had had with Ron. She blinked rapidly to stop them from forming tears. He smirked at her, as if he had a secret he was about to share.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Granger,” he said slowly, and she hung on to every word. “They’re not reasons not to be with her. They’re the things that make her who she is. They’re all pieces of her puzzle. She wouldn’t be the witch everyone knows and loves without them. They’re part of what makes her perfect.” The watering of Hermione’s eyes couldn’t be cured by blinking anymore. She looked back down at her drink but kept her hands folded in her lap.

“Do you think,” she rasped. She quietly tried to clear her throat with no luck. “Do you think Ron ever loved me like that? It never felt like he appreciated my flaws.” She heard Malfoy sigh as her tears were freed from their entrapment.

“I don’t know, Granger,” he replied softly. His hand entered her field of vision as he pushed her hair out of her face and lifted her jaw slowly, causing her to look into his eyes again. “But if he didn’t, he’d be a much bigger fool than I thought he was, and that’s saying something.” She smiled and gave him a quiet “thanks” before breaking their eye contact to wipe the tears from her eyes. Malfoy looked down at his watch. “It’s still a little early. Why don’t we get out of here? We can grab some ice cream at Fortescue’s.”

Hermione nodded and stood up from her chair, thankful for the deflection from Ron. “Ice cream sounds wonderful.” Malfoy stood as well, waving to Salma, the Friday night barmaid, as they walked out. He once again put his hand on the small of her back. This time, he left his hand there, as they continued their walk down the pathway toward the ice cream parlor, Hermione staying on his left side.

“Have I mentioned you look beautiful this evening?” Malfoy said conversationally.

“You did, actually, but it’s always nice to hear,” she said, feeling grateful for the relaxed ease he always carried. Hermione glanced around as they walked, eerily reminded once again of the previous Friday night, and feared for the presence that would without a doubt ruin her evening. Not seeing the familiar face, she took a deep breath as they walked into Fortescue’s.

“I’m paying for the ice cream, by the way. You paid for drinks. We need to keep it fair,” she said as they waited in line. With little argument from him (“Whatever you say, Granger.”), she continued, voicing a thought she had, “Do you think we can take a walk around park with our ice cream?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “That sounds like a great idea.” She proceeded to pay for their cones, and they took the short walk to the park. Malfoy’s right hand was occupied with his cone and his left was back in his pants’ pocket. She found herself almost getting used to his hand resting on her back, almost beginning to miss it. She was actually enjoying the almost-a-real-date date.

As they finished up their ice cream cones, Hermione glanced around the park at the happy couples. She gasped, upon seeing her red-headed ex-husband with his new fiancé. They were walking in the oncoming direction, Ron’s arm wrapped around his date. Malfoy must have heard her gasp and saw her problem. He took his hand out of his pocket, but instead of resting his hand on her back, like she thought he would to calm her, he put his hand on her opposite hip and pulled her the couple inches towards him. It was a swift movement as they walked, easily unnoticeable. Hermione took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back to prepare herself for the inevitable confrontation, though still silently asking whoever was out there to not let the pair see them.

“Hermione, it’s good to see you. What are you up to tonight?” Ron asked curiously as they walked up, Hermione’s prayers going unanswered.

“Ronald. We were just enjoying a nice walk in the park. The weather is beautiful this evening,” Hermione responded, trying to portray poise and elegance in her posture and voice, even though internally it felt lacking.

“Oh, I hadn’t realized you were with...anyone...” Ron looked over to her right, finally acknowledging Malfoy’s presence and giving a sideways glance to Malfoy’s hand that still lay firmly on her hip; his eyes went dark. Hermione didn’t dare look at Malfoy’s reaction, but based on the slight tightening of his grip on her hip and the last two interactions she had had with Ron, she knew his anger was intensifying. Ron turned back towards his date. “We were also enjoying the weather. I’m sure you remember Summer? Sweetheart, you remember Hermione, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do. Hermione, it’s such a pleasure to see you again. I do hope you’ll be able to make it to the wedding next month,” Summer said to her, showing her pearly white smile. She was a young, pureblood twenty-something with jet black, silky hair that fell just below her shoulder blades. This was the first time Hermione could remember ever even speaking to this girl, but Summer spoke as if they were long lost friends. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

It was all one big act: Ron acting as if everything between them was fine, Hermione acting as if she wasn’t about to break down at the mere sight of them, Summer acting as if she hadn’t helped destroy her marriage, and Malfoy acting as if he were nothing more than a fly on the wall during this train wreck of a conversation (and for that, Hermione was very envious).

“It’s on my calendar,” Hermione said, reciprocating Summer’s smile. “We’ll try to make it.” Ron looked like he was just about to make a comment when his date beat him to the punch.

“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Summer replied enthusiastically. “Mr. Malfoy, I’m sure my father would be thrilled to see you there. He’s raved about the famous Malfoy Apothecary for years. I remember he had many business arrangements with your family, back in the day.”

“Yes,” Malfoy drawled, in a voice Hermione only heard him use in meetings at work. “It’s unfortunate I needed to terminate many agreements when I closed the business. Maybe in the future, my family can revisit those contracts. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to continue our evening. Places to go and all that. Ms. Selwyn, Weasley.” He nodded to each of them as he said their names, slightly pulling Hermione along while he started walking past them.

“Have a good night Ron, Summer. Like I said, we’ll try our best to make it!” Hermione called as she skipped to keep up, Malfoy clearly not wanting to wait for a response from the other couple as he increased the length of his stride. “Well that went better than expected! I’m not a fan of small talk, so thank you for picking up my slack. And what was that little comment about ‘our evening’? You made it sound like we were on a date or something.”

“Well, you did invite me along to their wedding. It seemed like an appropriate excuse to remove ourselves from the conversation,” Malfoy steered right past her “date” comment, keeping his arm wrapped around her hip.

“Oh, that’s right!” Hermione scrunched up her nose, placing her unoccupied hands across her face. “I’m sorry! I know I’m going to be obligated to go, to save face. I don’t expect you to come with me though.”

“I don’t see how I have a choice in the matter now, with the Selwyn family knowing I’ll be showing my face. And I can’t very well have you go to a wedding by yourself when I’m expected to be accompanying you. We can’t have that. Hopefully it won’t be too awful.”

“From what I’ve heard from Ginny, it’s supposed to be a very grand affair.” Hermione halted, realizing her double entendre, causing Malfoy to stop in his tracks as well. His head turned toward her, giving her a questioning look. All of a sudden, Hermione broke out into full laughter, completely out of character compared to the last few months. She put her head down and put her fingertips on her forehead, covering her face. After a few moments, she looked up at Malfoy, who was still looking on at her with a confused expression.

“Come on!” Hermione slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand, still in a fit of laughter. “That was funny! You have to admit, that was funny! The whole situation is absurd!” Malfoy shook his head but still chuckled softly at her. Since his head was turned toward her, she could see his eyes glance slightly behind her. He leaned in closely to whisper in her ear.

“It seems as though someone is bitter about your laughter.” Hermione looked over her shoulder and locked eyes with Ron’s dark ones. Summer was whispering something in his ear, but he didn’t seem to be acknowledging her. The sight caused Hermione to start giggling once again. Malfoy smirked and whispered again in Hermione’s ear. “Want to give them a show?” She raised her eyebrows at him, silently questioning what he had in mind, her laughter dying down.

“All you have to do is put one hand on my chest and the other around my neck.” Hermione did as he suggested. It almost looked like they were dancing; she voiced her opinion, and Malfoy hummed in her ear in agreement. He gently tightened his grip on her hip and pulled her slightly toward him. Hermione looked to her right and saw Ron and Summer looking on at them, but she didn’t seem to care about their opinions anymore. She leaned her forehead against Malfoy’s shoulder, while he lightly kissed her temple.

Hermione took a deep breath, breathing in his cologne, enjoying the moment. It had been a long time since she had been held like this. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed it: feeling as if the man holding her would never hurt her; feeling as if she were truly cared for; feeling safe; feeling protected; feeling...

“Draco?” Hermione whispered, his name sounding foreign in her voice, her heart and thoughts suddenly racing. He hummed in response, kissing her temple once more. He was still clearly lost in the moment, just as she had been. “Could you walk me home now? Please?” Malfoy pulled away from her slightly. He nodded solemnly, and she sighed silently, the moment now gone. He placed his hands back into his pockets, and they proceeded to walk toward her building. Hermione found herself missing his touch but chose not to voice it. Unlike last week when Malfoy had left her outside her building, he followed behind, back to her apartment door.

“Thank you for the evening. I truly had a great time,” Hermione told him, as she turned to face him directly. She lifted her jaw slightly, silently asking for something more. He put his hand on her hip and leaned toward her. She darted her tongue out to lick her lips, preparing herself, but he veered off to the right side and kissed her cheek. She gave him a soft smile, not daring to show the disappointment she was feeling.

“Have a good night, Granger. I’ll see you at work on Monday,” he said, as he stuck his hand back into his pants’ pocket. She replied with a quiet “goodnight,” and he began the walk back to the Floo network that was down the hall. She entered her apartment and leaned her back against the now closed door.

“I think I just went on a date with Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said to the empty apartment, as she slid down the door to have a seat on the floor and took a deep breath. She put her head in her hands, finally processing everything that had just occurred during the evening. “I am so screwed.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments!! I know there are so many stories out there and it means a lot that you’ve taken the time for mine!  
> Sending all my love to you!

“Ginny, I’m screwed. Absolutely screwed,” Hermione exclaimed, the next morning, laying on her back on the Ginny’s living room couch. Ginny stopped pacing and turned toward her, waving the Daily Prophet in her direction.

“Why, again?” Ginny asked, sounding frustrated. “From what I gathered from the Prophet and everything you just told me, you had a great time.” She opened the Daily Prophet and began to read. “‘Mr. Draco Malfoy and Ms. Hermione Granger were seen _canoodling_ in the park of Hogsmeade (See photo above).’ I’m not going to reread the whole thing, but I’m not seeing how you’re screwed. Unless you mean literally?” Hermione put her hands on her face, covering it in embarrassment.

“No, Ginny! We _did_ have a great time, a _wonderful_ time. But he’s in love with someone else! You should have heard him, Gin. He listed all these flaws that any normal guy would have written down as reasons not to be with a girl, and then proceeded to tell me that all those flaws were why he was in love with her in the first place! I can’t compete with that.” Hermione looked back over to Ginny and scrunched her face in frustration.

“I’m surprised he’s so infatuated with one girl like that. He’s always been the biggest playboy, you know?” Hermione groaned as if in pain due to Ginny’s comment.

“Yeah, I do, but he’s definitely toned that down in the past year or so, right? At least we haven’t seen him on the cover of Witch Weekly every other month with a new girl on his arm. I don’t know if competing with Miss Perfect is better or worse than competing with all the ladies of Wizarding London.”

“Hm,” Ginny hummed in thought. “Well, it certainly looks like you’re distracting him enough from little Miss Perfect. Maybe she’s not as much competition as you think she is.” Hermione noticed Ginny was looking over the photographs that showed the closeness she and Malfoy had shared the night before.

“Those pictures were only when Ron was around, and we thought it would be funny. It’s not how it looks. Oh, what am I going to do? I mean, it’s _Draco Malfoy_. The guy who _hated_ me all through Hogwarts. I know he’s changed. He’s become a great friend and a great coworker since the war. We just have such a strange history. And all of sudden, while he was holding me, it was like the whole world had righted itself, like nothing else mattered, like I was exactly where I was meant to be. I haven’t felt like that in _years_ , and it _terrifies_ me. Does that make any sense at all?” Hermione took a deep breath, turning her head back to toward the ceiling.

“It does, actually. It sounds like you’ve got a little bit of a crush. Welcome to the club. Every woman in the Wizarding World, and probably the Muggle World for that matter, knows what it’s like to have a crush on someone she’s not supposed to. Don’t sweat it. How many times has it been said that if he wasn’t such an arse, he’d be really attractive? I think that was even said by you, a time or two.” Hermione scrunched up her face, being reminded of her time in school.

“That was back at Hogwarts,” she sighed. “He’s not nearly as much of an arse as he used to be.”

“Exactly. There’s nothing wrong with wanting an attractive man, especially in your case. And at least now we know you’re over Ron,” Ginny said teasingly, with a smirk in her voice that Hermione couldn’t visibly see.

“I’ve been over Ron for a while; you know that,” Hermione replied, slamming her fists onto the couch by her sides in frustration, but keeping her head turned toward the ceiling. “But don’t you get it? This is exactly like the Ron scenario. He wants to be with someone else. Even if I do go for it, I’m just going to get hurt again.”

“No,” said Ginny, emphatically, “this is completely different. This time you _know_ he wants to be with someone else, instead of being kept in the dark about it. You have the advantage this time. And who knows, maybe this girl is the wrong girl and you’re the right girl?” Hermione took another deep breath, turning her head to look at her best friend, who had gone back to pacing.

“She didn’t sound like the wrong girl, based on how he talked about her. What am I going to do?” Hermione repeated, begging for an answer.

“Well, how did you leave it? You said he walked you to your door? The door of the building or your apartment door?” Ginny’s pacing reminded Hermione once again of Sherlock Holmes, just as it did last week when they talked about her date with Oliver Wood.

“My apartment door,” Hermione answered. “I told him I had a great time, he kissed me on my cheek, he told me he’d see me on Monday, and then he left. You’d think he’d recognize a girl who wants to be kissed when he sees one. I know I’ve been out of the dating game for a long time, but I thought I had given him enough signals. Maybe he just doesn’t want me, and it’s as simple as that. Who would want poor, pathetic Hermione Granger, who can’t seem to stop crying for more than ten minutes at a time?” Hermione felt defeated. The first man she liked since getting divorced was a man who was already in love with someone else. The world was full of irony.

“Or maybe he was trying to be a respectful gentleman?” One of the things Hermione loved about Ginny was her ability to remain rational and sensible, especially during the past year, when Hermione’s mind was constantly reeling about everything. “He knows your whole situation. Maybe he just didn’t want to feel like he was taking advantage of you?”

“But I _want_ him to take advantage of me,” Hermione replied much too quickly, not taking a moment to even think about her response. This caused Ginny to chuckle and Hermione to groan, covering her face with her hands once again. “I’m so screwed.”

“I told you you should have worn the nightie.” Hermione turned her head toward Ginny, peeking through the gaps in her fingers. Ginny stopped pacing, putting her hand on her hip. “You could always borrow it. I’m sure he’d get the message if you showed up to his door in that thing. You know he could not say no to that request, and it would make him forget all about that mystery girl.”

“I’m not doing that. I don’t why you would even suggest it.” Hermione rested her hands back onto her chest, shook her head, and rolled her eyes in disgust.

“Well,” Ginny said, kneeling on the floor next to Hermione who was still lying on her back on the couch, “maybe you only _think_ that you want him because he’s the first male who has shown any interest in you. Maybe you just need _one..good..night_ , to get it out of your system. I mean, it’s been at least a year for you, right? I hear Neville’s available; I’m sure he wouldn’t mind doing you a favor.”

“That’s not funny,” Hermione said, giving her a half chuckle that turned into a tearless cry for help, internally retracting her original thought of Ginny’s rationality. “Anyway, Malfoy said he’s going to be my date for the wedding, said he needs to save face since I brought it up to Ron and _Summer_.” She said her name with poison in her voice.

“Oh, don’t get me started on _that_ subject,” said Ginny, who changed her position to lying on the floor next to the couch, putting her hands behind her head. “Mum and Dad are so pissed at Ron: first, for not telling them he was getting married, they found out from the Daily Prophet; and second, for having such a short engagement. The whole family is against it. I think we’re all still bitter about his affair. This is just like Percy so many years ago, but at least Percy could explain his way out of his problems; Ron has nothing.”

“Good to know I’m still one peg above the new girl,” Hermione said, turning over onto her belly and resting on her forearms to look at Ginny.

“Are you kidding?” Ginny said exasperatedly. “You’re still the best sister-in-law we’ve had. Angelina’s a pretty close second on the list, but that’s also because she plays Quidditch. Did I tell you I’m in the wedding? Ron asked me yesterday. I’m not looking forward to it at all. Harry’s the best man again. My brothers are pretty mad about that too. They thought at least one of them might get the chance this time around. I’m pretty sure she’s an only child. From what I’heard it’s just me and Harry; apparently, they don’t want that big of a wedding party. Ron mentioned Summer’s family is paying for the whole thing.”

“I bet your parents are thrilled about that too,” said Hermione sarcastically. “They’ve always been very prideful when it comes to wealth, like my parents, the work-for-what-you-have mentality. I think I mentioned to you that they’re having the wedding at Selwyn Manor. I bet it’ll be pretty extravagant. Malfoy said something last night, about his father having contracts with her father that he ended up terminating. I wonder if he has any dirt on that family.”

“If you find out anything, let me know. I’ll be sure to pass it along to my mum,” Ginny said, finally standing up to head to the kitchen.

“I will. I think I’m going to stop by his office on Monday to thank him for last night and to remind him I need to head over to the Crabbe estate for the relocation of those house-elves. I don’t want that to wait another week. Plus, if I bring up work, it won’t sound like I’m begging for another date. I have to keep it casual, right?” Hermione stood up from her place on the couch to follow Ginny.

“I honestly think you’re overthinking it, but that does sound like a good idea. Some guys don’t like direct questions. If you’re going to be at the Crabbe estate together, it’ll be an easy way to slip in questions about the Selwyns. He might see right through that, but I doubt he’ll care. He probably doesn’t have too much dirt on them, or else he would’ve brought it up already. He hates Ron more than anybody.”

“That’s true,” Hermione replied, “but there’s no harm in asking.”

————

Hermione walked into her office on Monday morning, grateful that her desk looked just as clean as she had left it on Friday afternoon. The only thing that stuck out to her was a formally addressed envelope sitting right in front of her chair, meticulously placed. She took a deep breath, remembering the last time she received a formally addressed envelope. Hoping it wasn’t anything wedding related, Hermione sat down her coffee cup, opened the letter, and began to read:

_To Ms. Hermione Granger:_  
_I hope this letter finds you well. I am extending an invitation to you for afternoon tea at Malfoy Manor at 3 o’clock this Saturday. The Floo network will be open to you for that time. I look forward to seeing you._  
_Best Regards,_  
_Narcissa Malfoy_

Hermione read the letter two more times. She grimaced, knowing full well that one does not simply say no to an invitation from Narcissa Malfoy. She knew it was Draco’s doing. He had mentioned it a handful of times over the past week; he knew she wouldn’t reach out to his mother on her own, not without a push. Hermione took another deep breath and pulled out a piece of parchment to write her affirmative response to the matron. Just as she was about to dip her quill in ink, the man who she was currently cursing walked into her peripheral view.

“Good morning,” Malfoy said nonchalantly, standing in the doorway, in his typical posture with his hands in his pants’ pockets.

“Morning,” Hermione responded trying to sound casual, remembering her conversation with Ginny. “Since you’re here, I still need to visit the Crabbe estate for the relocation of their house-elves. Did you end up scheduling the portkey for me?”

“I did. I checked with your assistant and scheduled it for tomorrow afternoon. I’ll meet you here after lunch; we can walk over together. Anyway, I just came to apologize for the Daily Prophet over the weekend and let you know I had a good time on Friday night.” He paused and changed his posture, bearing his weight more on his left side than his right. It was so slight that if it had been any other wizard, no one would have even noticed. Since he was Malfoy, who normally looked poised and well-put-together, and she was Hermione, who was normally very observant, she noticed.

“Oh, don’t worry about the Prophet. Luckily, not too many people read the Saturday issue, and at least it wasn’t the front page. I had a good time too; it was a great idea,” Hermione replied, trying to fill the silence. He nodded, shifting his weight to his right side, causing Hermione to slightly smile. He looked just as nervous as she felt. “Maybe we should do it again? Just drinks, like we did on Friday?”

“Definitely,” he said, looking much more relaxed. “I’m covering Patrick Welsh’s patrol shifts though, for the next couple weeks at least. Remember, I mentioned it?”

“Oh, right,” said Hermione, not bothering to cover the disappointment in her voice. She took a sip of her coffee to prevent herself from saying anything too foolish.

“Granger.” Malfoy waited until she made eye contact with him again. “I’m not blowing you off. I really do have to work.” He could read her like a book, had always been able to, even when they were children. That made her feel more foolish than anything she could have said in that moment. Still, she nodded in understanding. Deciding she didn’t want to conversation to end that way, Hermione changed the subject.

“I got a letter from your mother, by the way. We’re having tea on Saturday,” she said, trying to bring back the confidence in her voice.

“Oh?” Malfoy asked, sounding truly surprised. “That’s great. I’ve been telling you for the past week you should meet with her. I honestly think it would help with your situation with Weasley.”

“So you’ve mentioned. It’s worth a try. I mean, the worst thing she could do is kill me, right?” Hermione asked jokingly.

“If you think the worst thing my mother could do to you is kill you, you obviously don’t know her nearly well enough,” he replied with a smirk. Hermione chuckled, feeling the teasing nature of their relationship returning. “Anyway, I should head back to my office. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you,” she said returning to her response letter, as he turned and walked out of her office.

————

“So, this is Crabbe Manor, huh? For some reason, I pictured it much larger in my mind,” Hermione said, as they walked up the path toward the estate from the portkey, the next afternoon. She heard Malfoy chuckle on her right.

“Somewhere, many generations of Crabbes are rolling in their graves. Though I suppose when compared to Malfoy Manor, it is quite small. It looks much larger on the inside,” Malfoy replied, while opening the main door for her. “The wards have already been taken down, and it’s completely empty except for the kitchens and the house-elves’ living quarters. They were told to stay in one of those two places until you had time to stop by; hopefully they listened to orders.”

“What happened with everything after the place was ransacked?” asked Hermione as they walked through the grand foyer.

“Everything was given to the curse-breakers at Gringotts. From what I’ve heard, it’s all still on the waiting list to be checked. The Crabbes had had yearly estate checks, so there wasn’t much left to go through. Their direct line has ended, as you know. Even though some of their blood is in other families, my own included on my mother’s side, it’s all been willed to the Goyles. I’ve talked with Greg though, and as Head of Household, he wants to wash his hands of it all. I don’t blame him for that.” Malfoy led them through another doorway, Hermione trusting him to know the way.

“Like you did with your father’s business? Wash your hands of it, I mean? Terminating contracts?” Hermione asked, remembering the brief interaction they had had with Ron and Summer while taking a left down another corridor.

“The Selwyns, you mean?” Hermione gave him a surprised look, causing him to chuckle. “I can read you like a book, Granger; don’t be surprised. You want the dirt on the girl, right?”

“Okay, you caught me,” Hermione said, raising her hands in defense and giving Malfoy a side-glance. “Still, do you have anything good?”

“Hm,” he hummed, thinking it over. “Well, the Selwyns come from a very long line of old money, but that’s typical in pureblood families. There’s some stipulations in their money though. She’s probably after Weasley for his pure blood, won’t get a sickle if she doesn’t. The Sacred 28 and all that.”

“Stipulations for her inheritance? Do you have anything like that?” Hermione asked, no longer feeling concerned about her ex-husband and Summer Selwyn.

“No, no stipulations,” Malfoy said, as she raised her eyebrows questioningly. “When my father got his sentence, I became Head of Household and inherited everything. The Manor is willfully mine, but I couldn’t stand to live there, too many bad memories. I bought the cottage, and my mother stays at the Manor. Everything’s mine, no stipulations. Not that any of it truly matters.”

They stopped in front of the door at the end of the corridor, leading into the kitchens. When he turned to look at her, he had a darkness in his eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, as if he wanted to add something but decided against it. It took her a moment to tear her eyes away from his mouth and realize he was holding the door open for her.

“Right. Not that any of that matters, unlike these house-elves,” she said, coming out of her stupor and getting back into her work-mode. “Let’s find them new homes, then, shall we?”

————

The rest of the week went by smoothly. Two of the Crabbe house-elves ended up going to Hogwarts, thanks to Headmistress McGonagall. Though Gregory Goyle had decided to “wash his hands of it,” he took in the third house-elf until another placement could be found, which Hermione was able to put on the back burner for the time being.

On the following Saturday, Hermione stepped out of the Floo, at five minutes to three o’clock, not wanting to be late to tea with Narcissa Malfoy. If she was being honest, she had been waiting in her bedroom for the past half hour, dreading the encounter, but she had promised Draco that she’d make an effort. Hermione was greeted by a small, adorable little house-elf who was donning what looked like a sunflower yellow, cotton tent dress with a hat to match.

“Hermione Granger, may Vandily take your hand, Miss? Vandily is to bring Hermione Granger to the tearoom, Miss.” Hermione thanked the little house-elf and gave her hand to be guided. There were so many hallways that it would have be easy to get lost. Hermione decided to try some small talk to fill the silence.

“Vandily? How do you like living here? Are you treated well?” Hermione knew that there were scheduled and surprise checks done by her department on occasion (one of the first laws Hermione fought hard to pass when she first started working at the Ministry). Still, she couldn’t help but ask.

“Oh yes!” the little house-elf replied enthusiastically, with her ears erect. “Vandily loves it here, Miss. Mistress pays Vandily five galleons _a week_ , plus an extra galleon for helping Mistress with the gardens. Much more than Vandily needs. It is enough just to live here, but Mistress insists!”

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad to see you happy.” While passing a particularly fancy door on her right, Hermione wondered briefly about the drawing room, knowing it had long since been reconstructed. She vaguely remembered Draco’s comments of the Manor being raided by Aurors many years ago, before he and his mother were able to reenter their home after the war. As they walked through the hallways, various portraits made snide comments toward her, which she did her best to ignore.

Finally, Vandily guided her through an open doorway to a large room. There was a small table (comically small compared to the size of the room) and chairs sitting in the middle of the room. Narcissa Malfoy, with all the poise and elegance by which she was remembered, was standing off to the side.

“Ms. Granger! So glad you could join me today. Hopefully, I didn’t disrupt your weekend plans too much.” Narcissa said, opening her arms, welcoming Hermione.

“No disruption at all. Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy, for having me in your home. Though, I must say I didn’t receive the most welcoming greetings from the portraits. Thank you, Vandily, for showing me the way.” Hermione looked down at the house-elf, who was curtseying.

“Yes, thank you, Vandily. If you could get us some tea and biscuits, please?” Narcissa requested, and the house-elf quickly Disapparated away. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the portraits. We’re in the process of remodeling, moving all the portraits to the East Wing. Hopefully by the next time you visit, they will no longer be around to make you feel unwelcome. Why don’t you take a seat? Vandily will be back shortly.” Narcissa waved Hermione over to one of the empty chairs and grabbed a seat across from her. “Now, how long has it been since we’ve seen each other?”

“It was last summer, I believe, for Minister Shacklebolt’s birthday, at the Ministry. I can’t think of seeing you after that,” Hermione said, with a quick “thank you” as Vandily Apparated back and put down the tea and pastries on the table, trying to absorb some of the grace that Mrs. Malfoy was radiating. She was just about to pour herself some tea when she noticed the coffee pot that Vandily had set down.

“Coffee?” Hermione asked surprised and then tried backtracking, realizing the company she was in. “I thought we were just having tea and biscuits?”

“Draco mentioned to me that you like coffee. I thought I’d offer the option,” Narcissa paused and waited until Hermione was finished pouring herself some coffee and added somberly, “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Hermione said with a practiced smile, adding cream and sugar to her cup.

“Ms. Granger, not to sound crass, but I have raised a boy. I was married to Lucius. I was thrown into the inner circles of the Dark Lord, once upon a time. I know when I’m being lied to. Now, I will ask again. How are you?” Narcissa looked into her eyes with a look that told Hermione not to dare lie to her again. Hermione took a deep breath and looked down at her hands, which were now nervously ripping apart a pastry.

“Draco,” Hermione started, his first name sounding foreign in her own voice, “Draco mentioned that it might be helpful to talk to you about my situation. He said you might understand what I’m going through, from your experience with your husband.”

“Well, my son has always been very observant...” Narcissa’s voice trailed off while she took a sip of her tea. “It was actually my husband’s idea. To get divorced.” The statement surprised Hermione, but it surprised her even more how it was said, so conversationally, as if talking about the weather. Narcissa softly smiled and added, “I suppose they didn’t write about that in the Daily Prophet. The Malfoy family is known for keeping secrets, especially our own.”

Hermione’s mind was reeling, thinking the hundreds of questions she could ask Mrs. Malfoy right then, briefly wondering if Draco knew that piece of information and chose not to disclose it. She was just about to start her questioning, when Narcissa continued as if she already had.

“We had a very loving marriage, even though it was arranged. We were devoted to each other. Lucius got us caught up in quite a difficult time, to say the least, and he blames himself every day for it. It may not have seemed like it, but in his own way, Lucius did his best to be less like his own father; Abraxas Malfoy was much more...barbaric, if I may. Lucius loved and still does love me and our son, and I the same. I think he still struggles with Draco refusing to see him, even though he understands why, of course.”

“Draco refuses to see him?” Hermione was surprised to hear that and couldn’t stop herself from asking. Even though Malfoy never talked about his father, she didn’t think they were that estranged.

“They haven’t seen each other since the day of Lucius’s sentencing. I think it has a lot to do with the prejudice Lucius still carries. Abraxas had instilled that in him; it’s a Malfoy trait, I suppose. Draco’s been trying for a long time to distance himself from it all, even before the thick of the war. I don’t blame him, but I do hope they reconcile soon.” Hermione had so many more questions that she thought up to ask but decided to get back to the point of the discussion.

“So why did Lucius suggest to get divorced? If he loves you so much, even after all this time?” Hermione asked, honestly confused with Narcissa’s situation but feeling more at ease with the matron.

“It’s because he loves me so much that he wanted the divorce. He didn’t want me tied down to him. He didn’t want me to be subjected to one hour a month visitation with my husband. He wanted everything this world has to offer to be given to me. He didn’t think there was any way for me to have the world while still married to him. He loves me that much. That’s also one of the main reasons I kept my name.” Narcissa said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to understand. Hermione sighed softly, thinking about her own situation.

“And do you have that? Everything he wants for you?” Hermione asked, hoping she’d get an honest answer.

“No, not yet, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to find it. It was a very difficult couple years after the divorce. I kept trying to hold on to the idea of my husband. I kept hoping that everything would go back to how it was, and we’d all be the one happy family we once were. It look a long time for me to realize that that was never going to happen. Sometimes, we find ourselves trying to hold on to the past, especially since it’s the most difficult thing to let go of. Once you do though, it can be much easier to enjoy life. Now that I’ve told you my secret, would you care to share one?” Hermione’s nervous hands stopped fiddling with the pastry and instantly locked eyes with Narcissa. “Quid pro quo, as the Muggles say?” Hermione took a deep breath, bracing herself, looking back down at her hands. Narcissa just described everything she was currently going through: wanting to hold on, but at the same time, so ready to let go and move on.

“Ron’s getting married again; I’m sure you saw that in the Prophet. He’s marrying the girl he had a four year long affair with, almost the entire length of our marriage. I don’t love him anymore; I couldn’t possibly. I even started liking someone else. Still, I can’t stop myself from feeling like this, the deception and the disappointment. Everyone’s been so helpful, but that’s just adding to the guilt,” Hermione said, laying it all out with her eyes starting to slightly water. “What if I let it all go and move on, and I end up getting hurt again? What if I never fill this gaping hole inside my chest? What if I never shake this feeling?” Hermione wasn’t sure what made her open up to the woman sitting across from her, just letting it all out. She also wasn’t expecting any answer from Narcissa and was surprised when she heard a response.

“You will. Of course, you will. You’re Hermione Granger. Even if it takes longer than people expect of you, or even if it takes longer than you expect of yourself, you’ll get there. I know it must feel like you’re fighting against the world, but you’ll get through it.” Narcissa sounded so confident, but Hermione still had doubts.

“It’s not the world,” she whispered toward her hands before looking up again, raising her voice. “I used to be so strong and the person everyone went to with their problems. Now, I’ve slowly become someone who can barely hold herself together, let alone help anyone else; I’ve become so lost. What do you do when you’re fighting against yourself? When you’re fighting against everything you currently are, to become everything you need to be? How do I find my way out of the darkness?” Hermione blinked rapidly to prevent the tears from falling, as Narcissa gave her a knowing look.

“Those sound like good questions to ask my son, if you find the time, but Ms. Granger?” The matron paused to give Hermione a sad smile. “Just because you haven’t found everything you’re looking for or become everything you wish to be, doesn’t mean you won’t. Just because you might not feel worthy of being loved, doesn’t mean you aren’t. Believe that. You have a very strong support system surrounding you. Allow yourself to be loved, especially on the hardest days. Don’t be afraid to lean on people,” Narcissa said to Hermione, giving her a look as if she was including herself in that strong support system. Hermione took another deep breath.

“What do I do in the meantime while I’m finding my way? How do I get through the day-to-day?” Hermione asked. Narcissa didn’t answer right away but gave a look like she was contemplating her response.

“The trick is to assume your life is going to work out. Of course, it never does, so you do the next best thing: you take it one disaster at a time.”** Narcissa said so confidently, as if she knew exactly what Hermione was going through, as if she was trying to give motherly advice. It donned on Hermione just then that that was exactly what she was doing. Narcissa Malfoy, as poised and graceful as she was, was nothing more than a mother, trying to give a girl advice. Hermione felt so grateful, made a mental note to thank Draco for the forced upon suggestion, and smiled through her watered eyes to the woman sitting across from her.

“This helped a lot. Thank you,” Hermione said and Narcissa shared her smile. “You mentioned the Malfoy family is known for keeping secrets. Do you have any more you’d care to share?” Hermione asked, almost teasingly and Narcissa’s smile widened.

“Just one more. Unfortunately, it’s not my secret to tell. So, you say you’ve started liking someone new?” Narcissa asked, teasing back, reminding Hermione more and more of Molly Weasley, a motherly figure who was always ready to hear the latest gossip.

“Oh, it’s just someone at work. Honestly, it’s nothing,” said Hermione, playing with her hair nervously.

“With a smile like that on your face, it doesn’t look like nothing. He must be quite the man if the simple mention of him gives you that expression. I saw a similar expression on your face in the Daily Prophet last week...” Narcissa’s voice trailed off casually. Hermione knew exactly what she was referring to and that she was fishing for information.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, the Daily Prophet never portrays the whole truth.” The teasing nature of their conversation ended and Hermione felt the need to clarify without disclosing too much information. “But the gentleman I currently have my eye on...has his eye on someone else. So, it’s not like I can do much about it.” There was a moment of silence, while Narcissa sipped her tea and Hermione nibbled on her pastry. Then, Narcissa spoke up.

“Ms. Granger, I’ll give you a little word of advice that I’ve given my son multiple times, even though he still refuses to take it. There’s nothing wrong with going after what you want, especially if a lifetime of happiness is on the line.” Narcissa waited until Hermione finished taking in her advice and nodded. “Now, how about a short walk, hm? It has been a long time since you’ve been at the Manor, and I would love to give you a tour.”

“Draco mentioned you have a rose garden? Maybe we could start there?” Hermione had never been more thrilled about the change in subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **“The trick is to assume your life is going to work out. Of course, it never does, so you do the next best thing: you take it one disaster at a time.” - One of my favorite lines ever, taken from the TV show, Early Edition owned by CBS Productions/Columbia TriStar Television, originally aired between 1996-2000.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few weeks were very lonely for Hermione: Ginny had been bombarded with wedding responsibilities; Harry, Malfoy, and Seamus had been working extra hours to make up for the lack of staff; and Neville had been picking up a few more classes than normal for Professor Sprout. Other than a few scattered lunches with Harry, she had been keeping to herself mostly. Luckily, she had enough work to stay busy.

Before she knew it, it was Saturday, the morning before the wedding. It was going to be an evening wedding, but Hermione knew it was going to take her all day to get ready. Ginny had told her she wouldn’t be able to help her with her hair and makeup (not that Hermione minded that too much), since she had to help the bride prepare. Hermione and Malfoy had agreed the day before that he would meet her at her apartment, and they’d take the Floo network over to Selwyn Manor together. After changing into six different dresses and four different hair styles, Hermione finally decided on a royal blue, floor length, halter dress with her hair up and curled into a loose bun. About an hour before Malfoy was to meet her, Hermione was getting her finishing touches together.

“Alright. Makeup is on. Hair is done. Shawl? No shawl? Shawl?” she said to her reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking off and putting back on her matching shawl multiple times. “No shawl. Mom always said your shoulders were one of your best features. Though, I’m not quite sure if that’s a compliment or not? Anyway, shoes. I have those heels that match this dress perfectly. They’re probably somewhere in the back of the closet...”

Hermione walked through her apartment and started to rummage though her closet. She pushed her box of winter clothes, that was sitting on the top shelf, out of the way to reach another box she was sure had her shoes. Barely able to reach the box, Hermione finally pulled it toward her and put it on her bed to go through. She gasped upon opening the box. What she thought were shoes was instead her wedding albums. She slowly sat down on her bed and took a deep breath, picking up the top album.

That was how Malfoy found her, gently flipping through her wedding album, grazing each photograph that caught her eye. He quietly sat down on her right side, slightly turned toward her, resting his left hand on the bed behind her back.

“I knocked, but you clearly didn’t hear me. Is everything alright?” he asked softly, bringing her out of her stupor.

“I was looking for my shoes, but I found my wedding box. I don’t know what caused me to start flipping through pictures though,” Hermione replied, not stopping herself from turning another page.

“You were a beautiful bride,” Malfoy said conversationally, causing her to smile toward one of the photos of the album, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Are these muggle photos?” He pointed with his right forefinger, keeping his left hand on the bed. This time her smile did reach her eyes.

“Yeah, those are my parents. We wanted them to have something they could hang on the wall at their home. You can’t hang wizarding photos in a muggle home. People would ask questions. Though from what I hear, muggle technology has come a long way, so maybe they could start hanging wizarding photos without having to give too much of an explanation,” she said, turning yet another page.

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about with Arthur Weasley tonight, if you bring that up,” he said teasingly.

“If we sit with him,” replied Hermione, smiling at the thought and flipping another page of her photo album. “I don’t know what the floor plan is. Hopefully we’re not sitting with Percy at least. He’s not the best conversationalist; his topics can be very dry.”

“He’s married now, right? Aubrey is her name?”

“Audrey,” Hermione corrected, pointing to a picture of the woman sitting with Percy. “She’s sweet enough. Molly says anyone who can put up with Percy deserves a medal; she says that about all of her sons though. There’s Angelina, she’s married to George, and Fleur, married to Bill. I’m sure you’ve worked with Bill before; he’s a curse-breaker at Gringotts. And there’s Charlie, of course, never married, but he just got transferred to Russia, works with the dragons out there. If we’re lucky, we’ll be sitting with him; he always has the best stories.” Hermione had been flipping through her album, pointing to the faces as she mentioned them by name, before looking up at her company. Malfoy had been just nodding along with her, having nothing to add. “I’m sorry. I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

“No, not at all,” he said, sounding sincere, but Hermione didn’t quite believe him. “You’re still close with them?”

“It’s hard not to be. They’ve been my family for sixteen years, so...” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she took another deep breath. “Anyway, we should get going; I don’t want to be late. Can you help me find my shoes?”

After pulling out the box of shoes, Malfoy put the wedding box back onto the top shelf of Hermione’s closet, and she found the right pair of shoes that matched her dress. As she slipped on her heels, Malfoy pushed the shoe box back into her closet. Just as they were about to leave her bedroom, he gently grabbed onto her wrist and pulled her back.

“Granger,” Malfoy said softly, and she turned to face him. He was holding out a small, black box, no bigger than the size of her palm. She looked up at him, confused. “Happy birthday.” Hermione’s eyes went wide as she reached to take the box from him.

“You didn’t have to get me anything...” she said, almost in the form of a question, confused as to why he would even bother to remember, let alone get her a gift.

“Well, it’s your birthday, and we’re on our way to your ex-husband’s wedding. I felt the need to get you something. Just open it, will you?” Malfoy said relaxed, as if this same scenario was quite common for him. The thought made Hermione smile. She slowly opened the little, black box, keeping one eye on Malfoy. She gasped, upon looking at her gift. A beautiful, sapphire and diamond bracelet was lying inside the velvet-lined box. Hermione delicately took it out, putting the box down on her bureau. She looked up at Malfoy, with a shocked expression, unable to speak.

“I know you were in Gryffindor,” he said conversationally, as he took the bracelet from her, “but I think anyone would agree you would’ve done quite well in Ravenclaw. Plus, September’s birthstone is the sapphire. I thought it fit you well.” He placed it gently around her left wrist and clasped it closed. Hermione stared at the stones, not quite registering anything Malfoy was saying.

“It matches my dress,” she whispered aloud to herself before finally looking up at him, locking eyes. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She kept her voice quiet, her eyes starting to water.

“Come now, Granger,” he replied, grazing his fingertips across her cheek, as if pushing a nonexistent lock of hair out of her face, and then resting his thumb on her jaw. “The gift was to get you to smile, not to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m just...appreciative,” she said as she smiled widely, the corners of her eyes wrinkling. “Come on. We’re going to be late.” Hermione grabbed onto his elbow, and they walked out of her bedroom to make their way to the Floo network.

————

Thankfully, they weren’t late. They were perfectly on time to avoid the pre-wedding small talk with other guests. The ceremony was held outside. Luckily, most of the guests had already taken their seats, leaving Hermione and Malfoy to take the seats farther in the back. Rita Skeeter and her team were there for the story. Hermione made sure to keep an elegant posture and to not let the discomfort show on her face. She took a silent deep breath when the vows started, while Malfoy took hold of her hand and kissed her knuckles. She was grateful for the distraction and wondered why she ever told him she didn’t need him to come with her. The wedding ceremony ended without incident, and everyone began mingling as they made their way inside for the reception.

“Have you ever been inside Selwyn Manor before?” Hermione asked Malfoy as they followed the train of people up the staircases and into the grand ballroom, her hand holding onto his elbow.

“No, I can’t say that I have. My father never trusted the Selwyns,” he replied cryptically, but continued without Hermione inquiring. “They didn’t choose a side, during the first war or the second. My father used to say that as much as he hated people who he thought were beneath him, he at least knew where their loyalties lay; you could trust them, one way or another. With the Selwyns, there was no way of knowing. Just because you have contacts with people doesn’t mean you have to trust them, one of the many things my father taught me. I think our seats are this way.” He guided her to the group of tables where the Weasleys were congregating and ended up finding their seats. Their table included Percy, Audrey, George, and Angelina.

“At least we’re with familiar faces,” Malfoy whispered in her ear as he pushed her chair in after she sat down. She couldn’t have agreed more. Glancing around the room, there were only a handful of tables designated for the Weasley clan; the rest of the room was filled with Selwyn tables. After everyone was seated and toasts were made, dinner was served. Hermione gasped in surprise upon seeing several house-elves, all of whom were wearing only worn pillowcases, delivering food to each table. Her gasp must have been audible enough, as everyone at her table also looked over. She tried to mentally picture the list of names on the house-elf registry but couldn’t recall the name Selwyn. She felt a strong squeeze of her knee but kept her eyes on the abomination before her.

“You’re not at work; it can wait until Monday,” Malfoy told her firmly in her ear. Hermione whispered a “but,” but he interrupted her and repeated himself. She turned to look at her date for the evening and nodded in defeat. One of the house-elves put her plate on the table in front of her.

“Thank you!” Hermione said respectfully to the house-elf, loud enough for several other tables to look over. The rest of her table and the surrounding Weasleys followed her lead and also thanked the house-elves for delivering their food, even Malfoy. Though from the way Vandily had been treated at his Manor, it didn’t surprise Hermione as much as she thought it would. Other than that, dinner went on uneventfully.

“Basically, if we regulate the length of the tail twigs to thirty-two centimeters, it would be much easier to regulate the speed of the broomstick,” Percy said, wrapping up his clearly practiced speech, while everyone was finishing up their dinner and the honored couple was having their first dance. Malfoy bent toward Hermione to whisper in her ear.

“You weren’t wrong about the dry conversation,” he mumbled, and she gave him a knowing glance.

“There’s only one problem with your theory, Percy,” said George from across the table. Percy looked to his brother, ready to form a rebuttal to whatever argument George would make. “No one cares!” Angelina giggled at her husband’s joke, Audrey clearly was more focused on her plate than on the conversation, and Hermione covered her mouth with her hand to avoid having her smile seen.

“Just because your _tiny brain_ can’t comprehend—” Percy started, but Hermione tuned him out upon seeing Summer Selwyn’s father coming toward them. She felt her heart beat a little faster, wanting so badly to say something about the house-elves, but knowing her place and keeping her poise.

“Draco Malfoy! I heard a rumor you would be gracing us with your presence tonight,” Mr. Selwyn said, patting Malfoy on the back. He gave Hermione a side-glance. “So, you’re this one’s date, huh? How much is she paying you for the night? Not that you need the money, unless she’s paying you in some other way. I hear Mudbloods can be very entertaining, if you’re into that sort of thing.” He elbowed Malfoy in the shoulder and started to chuckle. Hermione felt another squeeze on her knee, but it didn’t help her discomfort; she couldn’t see Malfoy’s face from her position either. Not wanting to be part of the conversation any longer, she made a brief glance around the room. Seeing people standing and mingling, and knowing it wouldn’t be out of place, Hermione rose from her seat.

“I’m going to say hi to Ginny, if you’ll excuse me?” She walked toward her destination, not bothering to wait for a response. It took everything she had to ignore Mr. Selwyn’s comment as she walked away (“At least she knows well enough to ask for your permission.”). Hermione took a seat that had belonged to Charlie (who was now chatting with Harry at the bridegroom’s table), sitting next to Ginny who had moved to her parents’ table. She had a clear view of Mr. Selwyn and Malfoy’s conversation, but the room’s chatter drowned out their voices.

“Hermione,” Molly said, pulling Hermione from her stupor, “you look beautiful this evening. I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Thank you,” she replied, subconsciously rubbing her left forearm. “I am too. Though some company is better than others. Malfoy seems to be enjoying himself.” She watched as Malfoy laughed along with Mr. Selwyn.

“That’s to be expected,” Arthur piped up while Hermione kept her eyes on her date. “We are at Selwyn Manor after all. Lucius probably had instilled respect into that boy, no matter who the company. Speaking of Lucius, Molly, I heard he had a meeting with the Wizengamot this past week, had requested the Kiss.”

“ _Requested_ it?” Molly asked shocked, as Hermione and Ginny shared a glance. “Kingsley had that punishment done away with years ago, when he became Minister. I’ve never heard of anyone requesting it.”

“From what I heard,” Arthur continued, “it was right after his monthly visitation. He claimed the Dementor’s Kiss would be better than what he’s currently enduring in Azkaban. Though the dementors are no longer guarding the prison, potions are still given on a case by case basis, as you know. I’m not sure how well they’re treating him, but they denied his request, of course. It wouldn’t surprise me if they found him dead in his cell within the next few weeks. I wonder how well his son is handling it all.”

“I heard Draco hasn’t seen his father in years,” Hermione mumbled, quietly contributing to the conversation. Arthur hummed in response, and their conversation seemed to have ended there. She felt a shiver down her spine and wondered if she just told a well kept secret of the Malfoy family. She watched as Malfoy’s jovial conversation came to an end as well. She looked down at her hands and started to thumb her new bracelet.

“ _What_ is that?” Ginny asked suddenly, pulling at Hermione’s arm. “This is gorgeous! Did a certain someone give it to you?” Ginny started to finger Hermione’s new bracelet while raising her eyebrows at her.

“It was a birthday gift,” Hermione said, forcing her arm back toward herself, “and I think you’re reading too much into it.” She briefly looked down at her arm solemnly, the bright sapphires contrasting against the roughness of her well-known scar.

“Speaking of birthdays, don’t forget about your party tomorrow. My brothers took the whole weekend off for the wedding, so they’ll be there, except Percy, I think. It should be a good time too, especially since it’ll be Selwyn-less.”

“Ginny, be nice!” Molly called from across the table, and Ginny and Hermione shared a smile. All of a sudden, a man’s hand entered Hermione’s field of vision. She looked up to see Malfoy bowing in front of her.

“May I have this dance?” Malfoy asked politely. Nodding and ignoring Ginny at her side, she put her hand in his, and he guided her to the dance floor. They blended right in with the other couples. “I couldn’t very well insult a man in his own home, as much as I wanted to. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around prejudice like that,” he whispered in her ear, as he wrapped his right arm around her waist and she put her left hand on his shoulder, in a typical ballroom dance fashion. Hermione heard the apology in his voice and felt instantly at ease. She was reminded that the man she had seen laughing with Mr. Selwyn didn’t actually exist.

“Maybe your father was right not to trust them. They may not have technically chosen a side in the war, but we all know which side they would’ve preferred to win. How is your father, by the way?” Hermione asked, trying to sound honestly curious, while taking a page out of Ginny’s how-to-be-nosy guide.

“My mother is worried about him. She’s been wanting me to go to his monthly visitations, says she doesn’t think there will be too many left for him. I mean, it has been ten years since his sentencing. I should go, but..” Malfoy’s quiet voice trailed off as he pulled her in closer to him. She knew it was still a difficult topic for him even after all these years.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” she said, changing the subject. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”

“Be subjected to a night of discussion about broomstick lengths?” Malfoy replied teasingly, causing Hermione to smile.

“Better than cauldron thickness,” she said with a giggle in her voice. Hermione glanced around the room as they continued to dance. She saw that the house-elves had returned, carrying trays of desserts to guests who were waving them over. “I’m looking forward to a surprise inspection of this place next week. Those poor house-elves must have been unaccounted for for years. I feel like I’ve let them down.”

“Didn’t I tell you to not worry about that until Monday?” Malfoy said teasingly, pulling her a little closer still as they danced. She put her head on his shoulder and sighed. “You’re the best person for your job. Some people are just little better at going undetected. There’s nothing you can do without a proper investigation anyway. You’ll have to wait until the DMLE does their job, and you don’t see Potter charging in here with the entire Auror department, do you?” From her position, Hermione could see Harry and Ginny dancing slowly on the other end of the ballroom floor. Harry was whispering something that was making Ginny laugh; the scene reminded Hermione of their own wedding day. She sighed once again and shook her head against Malfoy’s shoulder.

From their new position from dancing, Hermione could see the honored couple of the night at the newlyweds table, whispering into each other’s ears. She found herself no longer caring about Ron and his love interest; she found herself caring more and more about the man who currently had his arm around her.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Hermione said quietly. “I’m glad for them, glad they found each other.”

“Are you really?“ Malfoy asked, sounding bitter, as he tightened his grip on her hip. “After all the pain he caused you?”

“Well, I used to be so angry about the whole thing. Fortunately, I’m past that part. Now, I’m at the part of trying to come to terms that not all men are like that. I just don’t want to get hurt again. I don’t want to be seen as the fool or the punchline of someone else’s joke. I want to feel like I’m worth something to someone, but I’m still terrified of letting myself be that vulnerable again,” she admitted, slightly lost in thought. Malfoy’s grip on her hip lessened, and she felt him start to rub her back lightly. Hermione closed her eyes, feeling content as they swayed. Just then, she heard that horrid word that was imprinted on her arm, once again spoken loudly by Summer’s father as if he had meant for her to hear it. Her back and shoulder muscles stiffened, and she started to silently list all the hexes she knew she could legally get away with.

“I’m used to looking at it, and I wear it like a badge of honor. I just hate hearing it in civilized conversation...like I’m nothing,” Hermione whispered, as Malfoy stopped rubbing her back and pressed her against himself. It almost felt as if he were trying to protect her; it brought her back to when he had held her in the park weeks ago. She took a deep relaxing breath with her head still on his shoulder, and they continued to sway to the soft violin music.

“M. Magnificent. U. Upstanding. D.-” Hermione heard in her ear. She tried interrupting him with a quiet “Malfoy,” knowing exactly what he was up to, but he continued on. “Dependable.” At this point, he let go of her right hand and wrapped his left arm around her, joining his right, not skipping a beat to the music. She rested her forearms on his shoulders and her forehead against his collarbone. “B. Brilliant. L. Laudable. O. Outspoken.” She closed her watery eyes, listening intently to the soothing nature of his voice. “O. Outstanding. D. Determined.”

Hermione pressed her forehead further into his shoulder, refusing to let him see her tears; it seemed the only thing that she had been doing lately was crying. If he knew, he didn’t pay any attention to it and continued on in his monologue.

“Give me a little more time and I could come up with a hundred more words to describe you, Granger. Don’t allow yourself to be bothered by ignorance. You are not defined by one word. And you are not defined by one moment in your life that someone was too much of a coward to stop.” Somewhere along line, they had stopped dancing. Hermione lifted her head up to look at him in the eye but kept her arms in place.

“Malfoy, that was a long time ago,” she said softly. “You need to stop beating yourself up over it.” He removed his right arm from around her waist and rubbed his thumb across her cheek, brushing away her silent tears.

“Only if you do the same,” he replied. Hermione knew he wasn’t talking about that day during the war but about the years of her marriage, comparing guilt that neither should carry. Then, all of a sudden, he delicately moved his thumb from her cheek to her bottom lip. He chanced a brief look at her lip before meeting her eyes again; if she wasn’t so fixated on him, she would’ve missed it. His eyes were so focused on her, and she relished the moment. It was as if the world stopped.

“Hermione!” And just like that, the world started turning once again, and the moment was gone. “I’m so glad you could make it. You look positively beautiful.” Summer put her arm between the couple to give Hermione a hug.

“Thank you, Summer. You look radiant. White is definitely your color,” Hermione said politely, trying her best to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She felt Malfoy’s hand lay against the small of her back once again, as if it belonged there. “We were just discussing how wonderful the ceremony was.”

“Wasn’t it though? It was just how I pictured it would be,” Summer replied, acting as if she and Hermione had been friends for ages. “From what I hear though, Malfoy Manor is overlooking a lake, with a rose garden if I remember correctly. It sounds like the perfect place to have a wedding.” Hermione heard Ron scoff but didn’t acknowledge him, keeping her attention on Summer and the feeling of Malfoy’s thumb slowly rubbing her back to keep her calm.

“You have to see the gardens; they’re gorgeous, especially with the white peacocks, absolutely stunning birds. Vandily, the house-elf, gets paid an extra galleon a week to take care of them, but I think those birds worth every knut,” Hermione said, hoping the unsaid comment about the Selwyns’ house-elves was noticed. “You’ll have to wait some time, though. We’re doing some remodeling currently, moving all the portraits to the East Wing. Their opinions are a little too loud for my taste, and you don’t want to cross Abraxas Malfoy, I can tell you that. I’ve only been to the Manor a handful of times, of course; I’ve always preferred Draco’s cottage to the Manor.” Hermione kept her voice light and breezy, feeling grateful for the time she had spent with Narcissa a few weeks ago; without that, she’d have nothing.

“Of course you would,” Ron said, joining the conversation. “A lot of betrayal had happened in that place. And it’s _Draco_ , now?” Hermione saw Ron’s eyes darken as he turned them to Malfoy, with venom in his voice.

“That’s his name, isn’t it? But a lot of betrayal had happened in my apartment as well, if you’ll remember. Fortunately for me, it’s not the location that brings back bad memories. Though if you want me to pull old skeletons out of the closet, Ronald, I’d be more than happy to oblige.” Ron’s eyes locked back with hers, as if challenging her.

“I’d be careful, Malfoy,” Ron said slowly, keeping his eyes on her. “Hermione’s the type of woman who just won’t let things go.”

“Don’t I know it,” Malfoy replied suggestively, a slight drawl in his voice. Hermione saw Ron’s eyes turn back toward Malfoy’s and darken even further, if that were possible. After a few heartbeats worth of time, Summer suddenly spoke up again.

“Oh! There’s my cousin, Tilly. I haven’t seen her in ages. Ron, we have so many people to catch up with.” She clearly wanted to diffuse the situation, and Hermione was more than happy to let her. After a quick hug and false promises to see each other again, Ron and Summer walked off to greet other guests.

“They exhaust me,” Hermione mumbled under her breath, and she heard Malfoy’s breathy chuckle.

“You were perfect, as always,” he whispered in her ear, and she rolled her eyes at his comment as they walked off the dance floor toward Harry and Ginny. As they reached the couple, Ginny grabbed Hermione by the wrist and pulled her off to the side, away from their dates and away from prying eyes and ears.

“We saw you,” Ginny whispered. “Harry and I saw you dancing with Malfoy. It looked like quite an intense conversation. Anything good?” Hermione smiled slightly at her best friend and sighed.

“I think he was going to kiss me,” she said questioningly, as she subconsciously touched her lip with her forefinger, mimicking Malfoy’s thumb placement. She glanced over at the topic of her current conversation. He looked so relaxed, his hands back in his pockets, as he talked to Harry. A snap of Ginny’s fingers in front of her face brought her back, and she dropped her hand back down to her side.

“But he didn’t? So what _did_ happen?” Ginny asked eagerly.

“The _happy couple_ interrupted us. We’re better off anyway, with Rita and her team lingering around. I’m trying to keep myself out of the Daily Prophet as much as possible, wouldn’t want to overshadow anyone. Plus, there’s still that girl he said he was waiting on. I don’t want to be the girl he’s just using to get over someone else,” Hermione replied while starting to play with the ends of her hair.

“Hermione, look at your wrist,” Ginny said quietly, and Hermione’s eyes went wide in surprise. They both looked down at her arm. “I highly doubt someone would give a bracelet like _that_ to anyone he’s just using.” Ginny shrugged, her normal, teasing voice returning, “And even if he was, why not reap the benefits?”

Hermione rolled her eyes but began to consider Ginny’s observation. That could have easily been explained away by saying he was just being a good friend. They had become fairly close over the years, from Christmas and work parties and general work at the Ministry. She wouldn’t call them best friends, but from everything he had done for her over the years, especially since her divorce, and all the sweet things he just told her, it seemed like they were well on their way. Plus, there was a gravitational pull of his sexual magnetism. If only he would kiss her, then she would know where they stood. She hated not knowing.

“Ginny, how did you know you loved Harry?” Ginny’s eyes widened, and Hermione felt the need to clarify. “I’m not saying I’m in love with him. Far from it, actually. I was just wondering how you knew.” Hermione watched as Ginny turned her head toward her husband and had a look on her face that Hermione had only witnessed a handful of times.

“When I looked at him, I saw my future. I saw everything I had ever wanted. I saw a man who was willing to give it all to me and I him. I looked at him, and I just knew,” Ginny said smiling.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like that...” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she looked down and started to fiddle with her bracelet once again.

“If you don’t know, then you haven’t,” said Ginny in an understanding tone. “And maybe Ron’s affair was the best thing to ever happen to you.” Still keeping her head down, Hermione nodded. “Hey! Just because you’re Hermione Granger, doesn’t mean you need to have everything figured out. It’s okay to not know something.”

“I’m just not used to feeling like this. I don’t know anything: if I ever even loved Ron, if I just married him because that was what was expected of me, if I even love myself. I don’t know if I love myself. How does someone not know that?” Hermione could feel her eyes starting to burn and her breathing becoming labored. She tried taking a deep breath, but it didn’t seem to be helping. _Not again. Not today, please._

“Hermione?” Ginny asked gently as she put her hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” Hermione was starting to feel very warm. She put her left hand on her chest and tried taking another a deep breath, feeling her heart begin to race. She was just about to tell Ginny a lie that she was fine and not to worry, when she felt someone standing directly behind her. Hermione felt that someone grab a hold of her left elbow, causing her to lean back against the man’s hard chest. She tried taking one more deep breath, terrified that she’d end up on the floor like the last time this happened.

“Red, why don’t you and Potter get her a glass of water? We’ll be on the balcony.” Hermione heard Malfoy say. She barely registered Ginny’s response (“You know I hate when you call me that.”) as she took another breath, shallower than the first few. “Let’s get some fresh air,” Malfoy said directly in her ear as she felt his right arm wrap around the front of her waist. Conveniently, the doors to the balcony were directly behind them. All Malfoy needed to do was turn her around and walk a few strides with her.

The cool night air felt heavenly against Hermione’s hot face. She grabbed hold of the bannister with her right hand and moved her left hand down to grip onto the arm that was still wrapped around her, silently begging him not to let her go. She couldn’t end up on the floor again; the embarrassment was already enough to surely kill her. She heard a hushed mantra of “in...and out...” in her ear behind her, while the dizziness slowly passed and her breathing returned to normal. Hermione noticed Malfoy holding out a glass of water for her, which she took with a shaky hand and began to sip. She still did not release her hold on his arm, from the consistent fear of falling.

“Hermione, are you feeling better?” Hermione heard Ginny ask tentatively, a tone she wasn’t used to hearing in Ginny’s voice. She turned her head to see Ginny and Harry standing near the door, close enough to be there if needed but far enough away to give her space. Hermione smiled at the two people she trusted more than anyone.

“Yeah, much better. I am a little cold now though,” Hermione replied hesitantly, taking another sip of water. Malfoy let go of his hold on her, and she realized what she thought had been a strong grip on his arm must not have been strong at all. Her shivering was eased when Malfoy draped his black dress robes jacket over her shoulders. She whispered a “thank you” as he returned his arm to its position around her waist and rested his left hand beside her on the bannister; it was as if he knew exactly what she needed without her saying a word. If Hermione wasn’t still in her own world overlooking the view from the balcony, she would’ve noticed the look he and Harry shared.

“Gin, why don’t we have one more dance before we head home?” Harry asked as he looked to his wife.

“Okay, sure. And Hermione?” Ginny waited until Hermione met her eyes. “Even if you don’t love yourself right now, you have plenty of people around you, who can love you a little extra until you do. Don’t forget that, okay? And you’re much stronger than you give yourself credit for.” They shared a solemn nod, and Ginny and Harry walked back into the ballroom. People kept telling her how strong she was, but with Malfoy currently there to prevent her from falling, she certainly didn’t feel strong. She used to be so confident, so well put together. She used to know exactly who she was, where she was, and where she wanted to be. Now a year later, she honestly didn’t have a clue about any of it.

Hermione rested her forearms against the bannister of the balcony, subconsciously swirling the remaining water in the tumbler. She took another deep breath, enjoying the fresh air.

“This needs to stop happening to me,” Hermione said, feeling frustrated with the situation. “It’s so embarrassing. We weren’t even talking about anything stressful; we were talking about falling in love. I had asked Ginny how she knew she was in love with Harry. I told her I had never felt like that before, even when I was with Ron. I started thinking about how little I know and how I need to learn to love myself again. That’s when I started not being able to breath.” She took another sip of her water, grateful for the cooling effect it had.

“No, that doesn’t sound stressful at all.” The sarcasm in his voice made her smile in spite of herself. “Learning how to love yourself though, I have experience in that area. We seem to have more in common than I bet you imagined.”

“You at least know what love is.” Hermione felt his chest stiffen against her back. “I can tell by the way you talk about your mystery girl. How did you know you were in love with her? Was there a moment?” Malfoy hummed softly, as if thinking over her question. She had a feeling that if she was facing him, he wouldn’t have given her a direct answer.

“Life isn’t a romance novel, Granger; surely you’ve learned that by now,” he started teasingly, and then his tone changed and slowed. “There was this one night while I was laying in bed. I was fourteen, almost fifteen, and it hit me like a bludger to the face. I realized she had suddenly taken over every waking thought and every dream-filled sleep. She had captivated my attention; she still has that way about her. She made me want to be a better person. I wanted to become someone worthy of her. She gave me hope; she helped me through the tough days without even realizing it. The hardest days of my life.” Malfoy paused, and Hermione didn’t speak, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought. She wasn’t sure what compelled her, but she put the now empty tumbler down on the bannister and grazed her right fingertips across his left forearm, against the dark stain that was currently unable to be seen due to his white dress shirt. She heard him sigh; his fingers flinched slightly, but he didn’t pull his arm away.

“I want so badly to tell her everything: how madly in love I am, how she was the only thing that kept me sane during the war, how everything I’ve ever done was to try to protect her, everything. I almost had the nerve once, when I realized...I realized I was being selfish. I want nothing more than for her to be happy, even if it isn’t with me. As long as she’s happy, that’s enough...Does that answer your question, Granger?” Malfoy slowly turned her around so they were facing each other again, still just as close. He put his right arm back around her, leaving his left hand on the bannister.

“It does, very much so,” she replied softly. “You should tell her though, even after all these years. It’s always nice to hear that you’re loved.” Malfoy slowly shook his head, lifting his left hand and pushing a few stray strands of hair behind her ear.

“Maybe some day. That’s what deathbeds are for, right?” His signature smirk returned, and it brought an ease to the tense conversation. “You don’t have to worry about her, Granger, and I’d much prefer it if she wasn’t brought up again.”

“I don’t have to worry about her? What is that supposed to mean?” Hermione replied, sounding coy. He moved his left hand further up, brushing his knuckles against her cheek, as he pulled her in closer. She sighed, resisting the urge to close her eyes, not wanting to miss the moment.

“It means...you don’t have to worry about her.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else but lowered his hand back down, almost as if he was retreating from her. Hermione pulled his coat a little tighter around herself as she nodded.

“Okay, I won’t bring it up again,” she replied somberly and glanced behind him through the entryway. “It looks like the wedding is winding down. Would you mind escorting me home?” He nodded, and they walked back into the ballroom. He kept his hand against the small of her back, but she could barely feel it from the thickness of his jacket. Upon seeing that all the Weasley boys, their dates, and Harry and Ginny had all left for the evening; Arthur and Molly were chatting with Summer’s parents; and Ron and Summer were giving their goodbyes to someone unfamiliar, Hermione just walked straight through the room toward the Floo network with Malfoy following her lead.

As they made their way back to her apartment door, the scene felt so familiar compared to their almost-first-date-date a few weeks prior. Hermione took a deep breath as she stood in her doorway, facing him.

“Did you have a good birthday?” He looked so relaxed, so unlike how she was feeling.

“I did, thank you. And thank you again for coming tonight. It meant a lot having you there with me,” she spoke timidly, looking down at her shoes.

“Well,” Malfoy said, lifting her chin with the side of his right forefinger so that she was looking at his smirking face once again. “As long as this is a one-off and you don’t have anymore ex-husbands’ weddings to go to, I don’t mind.”

“Hopefully this is the last one,” Hermione replied with a breathy giggle. “Anyway, it’s been a long day. I think I’m going to head to bed.” Malfoy nodded, rested his hand on her hip and pulled her slightly closer to himself. She felt more ready than she did last month. She wet her lips and lifted her jaw slightly, hoping it was enough of a signal for him. But much to her disappointment, he kissed her cheek, still so similar to the last time they stood there.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” he replied as he slowly let go of her. Hermione found herself already missing the contact but refused to show it.

“Let me just give you your coat back.” Hermione started to shoulder it off, but he reached up, stopping her, and pulled it back over her shoulder.

“Keep it,” he said, putting his hands into his pockets and giving her a knowing look. “It looks better on you anyway. Goodnight, Granger.”

“Goodnight,” Hermione whispered, as he started down the hallway towards the Floo. “Wait!” Malfoy half-turned to look at her. She wanted so badly to run over to him and attack him with her lips, but she was a few breaths too late. His look of curiosity changed into a look of concern, and she instantly lost her nerve. “There’s a...a birthday party for me tomorrow afternoon. It’s at the Burrow, starts around one. I know you’ve probably had enough of the Weasleys today to last a lifetime, but if you wanted to come?” She froze and held her breath, waiting for his response. _You look so desperate. What is wrong with you?_ She opened her mouth, ready to retract her suggestion. Then, she saw him smile, a soft smile that she wasn’t used to seeing on his face, so unlike the smirk he usually carried.

“Sure, Granger. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.” Malfoy nodded toward her and finally turned the corner, out of sight.

Hermione silently exhaled, coming out of her stupor. She went into her apartment and closed the door behind her. She leaned up against it, reminding herself once again of their almost-date last month. She took a deep breath, slid down to the floor, and looked around her apartment, subconsciously playing with her new bracelet. “I’ll ask him tomorrow. I can’t let it go on like this. Definitely tomorrow.”


	9. Chapter 9

“It looks like someone is wearing the same clothes she had on last night.” Hermione scrunched up her face as she came out of her slumber. She looked up from her place on her bed at Ginny. “What happened last night?” Hermione yawned as she sat up, Malfoy’s jacket that had been draped over her pooling in her lap.

“I must have fallen asleep without getting into bed, or even changing for that matter. I guess I needed the rest; I slept really well. What are you doing here anyway?” Hermione took her wand from her bedside table, did a quick charm to unwrinkle the coat, and hung it up on the hook behind her bedroom door. She could feel Ginny’s eyes following her.

“I thought we had agreed on breakfast before your party this afternoon. But that’s not the only reason why I’m here.” Hermione turned to look at her best friend, who was shaking the half-folded Daily Prophet in her direction. “I’m going to ask again: what happened last night after Harry and I left?”

“Nothing, honestly. We talked for a little bit longer on the balcony, and then he brought me home. Nothing happened. What did the Prophet have to say about it?” Hermione started to rummage through her bureau for something to wear for the day. She looked over at Ginny, and Ginny shrugged slightly.

“Nothing that I hadn’t already seen with my own two eyes, except Summer saying something about how cute the two of you looked together. She’s not wrong. I saw how you looked when you danced. You’re absolutely smitten over him. I know you say nothing happened, but why don’t I believe that?” Hermione ushered Ginny out of her bedroom so that she could change clothes in peace.

“Well, I did invite him to the party this afternoon,” she called loudly enough so Ginny could hear her through the door. “Other than that, nothing really happened. Every time I think he’s going to make a move, or kiss me, or... _something_ , he backs away. I was thinking last night about how today I wanted to actually ask him about it, but I think I’m having second thoughts. He’s been a great friend, and if I’m reading it all wrong, I don’t want to end up scaring him away.” After getting dressed, Hermione sat on her bed for a moment, taking a deep breath. She finally opened her bedroom door to walk toward the kitchen, passing Ginny on her way.

“Didn’t we talk about this yesterday? I don’t think you’re reading it wrong; I think you’re just overthinking it, in your typical Hermione Granger fashion.” Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ginny, as she turned on the kettle for her morning coffee. “I’m serious! From everything you’ve told me about him and everything I’ve seen, it seems like he really does care about you. It’s worth asking, isn’t it? Especially if it could be everything you’ve ever wanted.” Hermione thought that Ginny was starting to sound exactly like Narcissa Malfoy had last month. _Both women couldn’t be wrong, could they?_

“I just don’t want to get my hopes up and get hurt again.” She looked up at Ginny somberly, silently asking for advice. Ginny put her hand on her shoulder blade.

“So, you’d rather have guaranteed misery than a chance at happiness? That doesn’t sound like the Hermione I know.” Ginny sighed while she gave her a sideways hug, rubbing her back. “I’ve been really worried about you lately, especially last night. You looked really pale, but Malfoy seemed to have it all under control?” Hermione took another deep breath, remembering the night before.

“He calls them anxiety attacks. It’s like I lose the ability to breath, and my heart starts racing. It’s only happened once before; they’re not all the time. He has this way of being able to help me through them though, said he used to get them himself and he knows what I’m going through.” There were a lot more reasons why Malfoy seemed to know what she was going through, but she didn’t want to bring those reasons up to Ginny. She didn’t want to worry her anymore than she already was.

“Seems to me that it’s just another reason to give it a try. I know you’re still worried about getting hurt, but don’t let your past get in the way of your future, okay? Don’t be afraid of letting yourself be vulnerable, because you know what? I have a really good feeling about him, and when have I ever steered you wrong before?”

“I have a really good feeling about him, too. Thanks, Ginny,” Hermione replied with a soft smile, thinking back on all that her best friend had done for her over the years. “I mean it, thanks.” Ginny gave her shoulder a squeeze before letting go.

“Let’s get some breakfast and finally enjoy your birthday, even if we are a day late.”

————

“Now, remember the plan,” Ginny whispered in Hermione’s ear after they both made it through the Floo into the Burrow. “I’ll get everybody outside to play a scrimmage match of Quidditch after lunch. That’ll give you plenty of time to talk to Malfoy about going out. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it. I just hope I don’t lose my nerve,” Hermione mumbled with a grimace as they made their way into the kitchen.

“Happy birthday!” Everyone that Hermione was expecting had been in the kitchen: the Weasley brothers, minus Percy and Ron; Angelina; Arthur and Molly; Seamus (without Dean); and of course, Harry. Everyone except Malfoy, but Hermione supposed that was also to be expected. Even though the day before he had said he would see her, she didn’t think he would actually show up, as much as she was hoping he would. Hermione gave Ginny a knowing look upon taking in the scene of everyone getting ready for lunch.

“Is everything alright, dear?” Molly asked as she came over to Hermione to give her a welcoming hug.

“Yeah,” Hermione replied with a soft smile. “It just feels good to be home. It’s been a while.”

“Of course it has,” Charlie said, speaking for the family, as Hermione walked further into the room to help the rest of the group set up for lunch. “We don’t blame you for it, you know. We know it’s all Ron’s fault.”

“Hey now!” Arthur called from across the room. “We all agreed we wouldn’t have any arguments today.”

“It’s not an argument. It’s fact,” Bill replied, backing up his brother. The rest of the Weasley family nodded in agreement and began to talk amongst themselves, minus Molly, who shook her head in disgust. Seamus continued setting the table, clearly to keep out of their business, and Harry kept to himself just as he had in the past year, not wanting to have to choose a side.

“Anyway!” Molly yelled above the ruckus. “Lunch is ready. Everybody, grab a seat!” As directed, everyone chose a seat and started to pass food, Hermione sitting next to an empty spot at the table. Molly mentally counted bodies with place settings, double checking as usual. “Are there too many chairs?”

“No, Mum,” Ginny piped up. “Hermione invited Malfoy over. We set up an extra place for him in case he shows up.” Luckily for Hermione, no one paid her comment any mind, and lunch continued on with no incident.

After lunch was finished, Hermione let out a disappointed breath as she began to help clear the table. Just then, everyone stopped and turned their heads toward the sound of the Floo. Malfoy poked his head into the kitchen, probably finding his way due to the continuous commotion.

“Sorry I’m a little late. I had some...family matters to attend to.” Malfoy looked so out of place in the Burrow. There were a few seconds of silence as everyone stared.

“Oh, that’s fine! There’s still some food left, if you’re hungry?” Molly was the first to respond, filling her motherly role with ease. She was about to get a plate ready for him when he raised his hand to stop her.

“No, no. I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you.” The uncomfortable silence ended as everyone started to clear the table once again.

“We were just about to start a scrimmage match of Quidditch, if you want to join us?” Harry asked. Ginny was quick with a painless, backhanded slap against his shoulder. “What? Dean and Fleur couldn’t make it today; we’ll have an odd number if Malfoy doesn’t play.”

“Do we even have enough people?” Malfoy asked, his eyes scanning over everyone as he counted heads.

“Well, not for a full game,” Charlie added, “but we only have a quaffle anyway. It’d be three chasers and a keeper on each side; first team to a hundred points wins. Hermione doesn’t play Quidditch on account of being afraid of flying, so we’re not including her in the headcount.”

“You’re still afraid of flying? I thought you grew out of that?” Malfoy asked, finally addressing Hermione.

“I’m not afraid of _flying_. I’m afraid of _falling_. There’s a difference,” she replied emphatically, placing a hand on her hip. “And even if I wasn’t, I’m still not a big fan of Quidditch.”

“Right. Just the players,” George chipped in with a chuckle. Ginny slapped him with the back of her hand as well, and he raised his hands in defense. “I’m just teasing! Relax!”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Ginny said, giving a side glance to George to stop him from making any more inappropriate comments. “I can’t play. Professional Quidditch player, remember? Whichever team I’m on would have an unfair advantage.” Hermione knew exactly what Ginny was trying to do: rig the amount people to give Hermione time alone with Malfoy.

“Well, we also have Harry Potter,” Seamus added. “As long as you’re both not on the same team, I think it would be a pretty even match.” Everyone nodded, agreeing with Seamus’s suggestion, and made their way out of house toward the pitch. Ginny looked as if she wanted to continue arguing as she followed everyone else. Malfoy stopped at the doorway and turned to face the kitchen, noticing Hermione not following the others.

“You alright, Granger?” Malfoy asked, sounding concerned that she was being left out. She heard a distant “hurry up, Malfoy” (from Bill, if she had to guess) and then a loud “Ouch! Ginny!”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” she replied with a smile. “I’ll come out and watch once we’ve finished cleaning.” He nodded solemnly.

“Mrs. Weasley? Do you need any help at all?” he asked the matron of the household, showing the respect Arthur had commented on the day before.

“No, not in the kitchen anyway,” Molly replied, as she finished throwing the remaining dishes into the sink to be cleaned. “But if you could, do try to keep them all out of trouble, will you?” To Hermione, it sounded like such a strange request to make of Malfoy, as if he hadn’t gotten himself in a world’s of trouble in the past. Still, Malfoy nodded once to her, locked eyes briefly with Hermione, and walked out of the kitchen to follow everyone to the pitch. Hermione let out a slow exhale and sat down next to Arthur, who had kept to himself since lunch had ended. Molly continued on her way, charming the dishes and the counter to clean themselves.

“I think this is the first time he’s ever been here, but he seems to fit in just fine,” Arthur said, folding his hands together on top of the kitchen table in thought. Molly nodded in agreement.

“The years of working with Harry have done that boy some good, huh?” Molly finally took a seat next to her husband, the noise of the dishes filling the silence.

“Maybe it’s not just Harry,” Hermione mumbled, fiddling with the bracelet that she still had on from the night before; she supposed it was better than biting her nails. Again, Molly nodded and glanced briefly down at Hermione’s wrist.

“Speaking of which, he seems to be treating you well, from what we’ve seen,” Molly said, clearly fishing for information.

“I suppose,” Hermione replied. Molly raised her eyebrows at Hermione questioningly. “It’s not like we’re dating or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“From what Ginny’s told me, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. You definitely look much happier than when I saw you last month, and you more than anyone deserve happiness. You deserve someone who lifts the weight off your shoulders, someone who helps you breathe a little easier.” Hermione looked up at Molly, contemplating what she had just said. She knew Molly meant the phrase rhetorically, but she couldn’t help but think of it literally.

“Is that what love is? I’m honestly still learning,” she asked curiously, but Molly didn’t seem to have an answer to her question.

“Aren’t we all?” Arthur cut in, resting one of his hands on top of Molly’s. “Love is a funny thing, Hermione. We’re all learning as we go. It isn’t something you can learn from a book with an practical examination at the end. If that were the case, I’m sure some people wouldn’t pass the course.” He paused in thought, and Hermione was sure he was thinking about his son. “Some people just have it figured out a little more than others, that’s all.”

“I know we’ve mentioned it before,” Molly added, “but please know that you will always be considered part of this family, no matter what.” Hermione always felt like she belonged in the Weasley family, even after the whole debacle last year. Still, it was always nice to have it confirmed.

“I know. Thanks. It means a lot,” she replied with a soft smile. Just then, Hermione could hear distant arguing from the pitch. She chuckled as she rose from her seat. “I should probably see if everything’s alright back there.”

On her way toward the pitch at the back of the house, the arguing grew louder. She could see everyone standing on the ground, rather than in the air like she thought they would be. There was an imaginary line drawn between the teams.

“There was a foul, plain and simple,” Charlie said as she approached. “Our team gets a penalty shot. That’s how it’s played, even in scrimmage matches. That’s how we’ve always played.” The people on the other side started talking over each other to counter-argue, but Hermione couldn’t make any sense of it.

“Hey!” she called over the noise. “What’s wrong?”

“ _What’s wrong?_ ” George repeated, as he pointed a finger at Malfoy while keeping his eyes on her. “Your boyfriend’s a cheater! _That’s_ what’s wrong.” It took everything Hermione had not to roll her eyes at his comment.

“I’m not a cheater,” Malfoy said adamantly, but no one was paying him any attention. Everyone was still trying to make their arguments heard above everyone else.

“So what did happen?” Hermione asked directly to Ginny.

“Basically, there was a foul for excessive use of elbows by Malfoy against George. George would get a penalty shot, but apparently there’s some disagreement about what ‘excessive’ means,” Ginny explained to Hermione.

“Why don’t you just play non-contact?” Just as the words left her mouth, the noise stopped. Everyone turned their heads in shock, as if what she said had been the most offensive thing they had ever heard. Then the arguments started back up, all of them directed at her. There were a few phrases she caught within the commotion. (“Non-contact? What are you talking about?” “That takes all the fun out of it!” “This is why we never let you to referee.”) Hermione raised her hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. Don’t bite my head off! It was just a suggestion.”

“A bad one,” Bill mumbled. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I promised Fleur I’d be back before three o’clock. I need to get going.” There were some groans heard as Bill passed his borrowed broomstick to Charlie. He gave Hermione a bear-like hug, lifting her slightly off the ground due to his height. “Happy birthday, little sister,” he said in her ear, causing her to smile at the reminder of how she truly was part of the family. After a quick goodbye to everyone, Bill Disapparated, signaling the end of the game. They all started to trek back to the broom shed to pack up. The group was easily subdivided, talking amongst themselves: Harry, Seamus, George, and Angelina taking the lead, Charlie and Ginny a few meters behind, and Malfoy and Hermione following in the back.

“So, how was the match? I hear you’re a cheater?” Hermione said teasingly. She gave him a side-glance and saw him scowl slightly; she had a feeling he didn’t take it in the manner that she meant. He grabbed on to her elbow, stopping her from following the group, and turned her around to face him.

“I’m not a cheater,” he said seriously, locking eyes with her. She tried replying with a soft “I know,” but he squeezed her arm slightly and repeated. “Granger, I’m not a cheater.” He said it slower than the first time, and she knew he was no longer talking about Quidditch.

“I believe you,” she whispered. He slowly nodded and let go of her arm, as if remembering his place. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just been a long day,” he replied as he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. She had never seen him so gauche. Clearly something was bothering him, but she chose not to make a comment. They silently continued on their way to broom shed. Everyone was already on their way back to house by the time Malfoy and Hermione entered the shed to return Malfoy’s borrowed broomstick. “I’m going to head home now. Like I said, it’s been a long day for me.”

“Sure, of course. But before you go?” Hermione paused to take a deep breath, trying to pull together her confidence that she was gravely losing. She looked down at her bracelet that she was now subconsciously rolling in between her fingers. “Remember last month? We talked about going out for drinks again? Well, we haven’t made plans since then, and I was just wondering if maybe...if you weren’t busy...that is to say...um..” She could feel her heart racing as she stumbled over her words. She was silently cursing the idea, keeping her eyes on her hands.

“Granger?” He waited until she looked back up at him. “Are you asking me out on a date?” He smiled at her, with kind, patient eyes. She took another breath to calm her heart.

“Well, that depends,” she replied emphatically, shrugging her right shoulder. “If your answer is yes, then yes, I am. If your answer is no, then no, I’m not.” At that, he started chuckling, and she instantly became offended. “Hey! Don’t laugh at me. I’ve told you I’m working on my vulnerability! This is a big step forward for me.” She tried to slap his shoulder to get him to stop laughing, but he caught her hand in his.

“I know, I know it is. I don’t mean to laugh at you, Granger,” Malfoy said as his chuckling died down. “You’re just as analytical as always, that’s all.” He kept his eyes on hers as he lifted her hand to kiss her palm, and she caught her breath in surprise. “Does this Friday night work for you?” Her eyes widened exponentially.

“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” Hermione replied, finding her voice and trying with great difficulty not to sound too excited. “After work? We can get dinner or something?”

“Or something. I’ll handle all the details, Granger. You don’t have to worry about it. I should get going though. I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” Hermione nodded as he raised her hand once again to his mouth and pressed his lips against her knuckles.

“I don’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow, so maybe we can have lunch? If you’re not too busy?” Her heart was still pounding as she asked, but her confidence was slowly growing.

“Sounds like a plan.” He gave her his signature smirk and slightly squeezed her hand before letting it fall back down to her side. They shared a quick goodbye before he Disapparated. She thumbed her hand across where his lips had just been, as she lost herself in thought.

After some time, the creek of the floorboards awoke Hermione from her stupor. She looked up to see Ginny with one hand on her hip.

“There you are,” Ginny said sounding concerned. “Everyone was worried about you. We thought the two of you would’ve made it back to the house by now. You okay?”

Hermione replied with a soft smile on her face, feeling more okay than she had in a long time, “I have a date this Friday night.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little change of pace in this chapter. Seeing it from Draco’s point of view.
> 
> Thanks again for all your kudos and comments! Sending all my love to you!!

Later that evening, long after Draco had left the Burrow, he found himself at the bar of the Three Broomsticks, ordering a much needed hard drink.

“Draco! Over here!” He looked over his shoulder and saw Theo and Blaise sitting in their regular booth in the corner of the room. Blaise had his arm raised, waving him over, and Theo was flipping through the Daily Prophet.

“Could you make it a tall one, Salma?” he asked the barmaid as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I think I’ll need it to get through the rest of the night.” Salma chuckled softly and shook her head, while pulling out a highball glass.

“You know friends don’t let friends drink alone,” she replied knowingly, filling the glass with his typical drink of firewhisky.

“They’re not friends; they’re a nuisance,” Draco said bitterly. Blaise and Theo were truly great friends when they weren’t being infuriating, but he had feeling it would be a night of the latter. Salma chuckled again as she handed over his drink, and he gave her a few sickles in return.

“Have a good night, Mr. Malfoy.” He lifted his glass in response, as she went on her way to serve other customers. Draco finally stood and walked over to his friends, dreading the inevitable conversation about the wedding.

“If it isn’t the man of the hour, here to grace us with his presence,” said Blaise sarcastically. He lifted his glass high as Draco rolled his eyes and sat down.

“How was your weekend?” Draco asked, finally enjoying a sip of his drink. “Anything interesting?”

“We have nothing compared to you,” Theo chipped in, dropping the Daily Prophet haphazardly on the table. “You made the front page this morning.”

“Not only did you make the front page,” Blaise added, tapping onto the paper with his forefinger. “You made the main headline. Weasley only got the side column. Given that it was his wedding, you’d think the honor would be given to him, but apparently not.” Draco hummed in thought as he picked up the paper with his left hand and took another sip of his drink with his right. Sure enough, there, in the middle of the Prophet, was an article with a moving photograph of him and Granger dancing at the wedding. Her head was resting comfortably on his shoulder; her eyes were closed, and she had a slight smile on her face. He watched himself pull her close, as his grip subconsciously tightened on the paper. He sighed as he forcibly tore his eyes away from the photograph.

“‘The Ministry’s New Hottest Couple?’” Draco read aloud, skimming through the article. “‘Mr. Draco Malfoy and Ms. Hermione Granger were the couple of the evening at the Weasley/Selwyn wedding this past Saturday night...Ms. Granger and Ms. Summer Selwyn were seen sharing wedding tips’? What is this rubbish? I thought gossip was limited to Witch Weekly.” Draco looked up from the paper at his friends, honestly looking for an answer.

“Oh, it gets better,” Theo replied, gesturing his hand toward the Prophet. “You have to read the part about the Manor. Flip through it. I don’t know what page it’s on.” Draco put down his drink with an aggravated sigh and began flipping through a couple pages of photographs from the wedding. Thankfully, they weren’t all of just the two of them. One picture that caught his eye was during the ceremony; he had her knuckles pressed against his lips to keep her calm while the vows were being said.

Directly above where the article continued was another photograph: her forehead was pushed into his shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other. He couldn’t see her face from the angle, but he knew exactly when it was taken, right after Selwyn had let his bigotry be heard for the second time that night. Draco’s eyes continued to skim the article until he got to the part that Theo had mentioned, and he decided to read aloud again.

“‘Rumor has it, all of the famous Malfoy portraits are being moved to a segregated part of Malfoy Manor. Ms. Granger is said to have been the main reason for the change in decoration as the Malfoy family is well-known for its prejudice against Muggle-borns. Draco has clearly shown to be the exception to the rule.’” Draco took a deep breath before looking back up at his friends. “It was my mother’s decision to move those portraits; I never even suggested it, not that I’m not glad they’re being moved.”

“I’m surprised you’re just reading this now. I’d bet Granger would be the first to mention the article. She’s always hated Skeeter,” Blaise replied.

“I saw her earlier today. She didn’t say anything; she must not have seen it,” Draco said, lost in thought. He sighed, and then another sentence caught his eye. “‘Due to obvious reasons, Mr. Lucius Malfoy was not available for comment in regards to Draco’s newest conquest. However, during previous interviews, Lucius Malfoy’s estranged wife, Narcissa, has said on multiple occasions that she ‘adores’ Ms. Granger. We shall see how this all unfolds.’ Great, wonderful. Just bring my parents into it; that’s exactly what I need.” He threw the paper aggressively back onto the table with another sigh.

“They’re not wrong,” Theo tried arguing. “Your mother does adore Granger. Or is more this about your father?” Draco picked up his forgotten drink, taking in half of it in one gulp.

“You hear he requested the Kiss?” Draco asked. Based on their expressions, he guessed they hadn’t. “After his monthly visitation with my mother this past week. He had requested a hearing, tried pleading his case to the Wizengamot, said he’d rather be dead than spend one more day without freedom. Since there’s no death penalty in the Wizarding World, he thought he’d go for the Kiss as an alternative. They denied the request, of course.”

“Oh, mate. I don’t know what to say.” Blaise said slowly as he patted him on the shoulder in sympathy.

“Well, get ready for this. He tried to off himself this morning, at least that’s what I think. My mother told me he tried Apparating, and you obviously can’t Apparate in or out of Azkaban.” Draco paused as his friends looked on at him, with an expression of confusion and shock that asked “why?” “He obviously did it on purpose, ended up splinching himself; he’s at St. Mungo’s now. I spent the whole day consoling my mother about it. Luckily, it’s being handled by the Improper Use of Magic Office, as opposed to the Aurors. It will probably be all over tomorrow’s Daily Prophet. Just what I need, another main headline.” There was a pause as Draco sighed and ran his hand through his hair in exhaustion.

“Have you gone to see him?” Theo asked, and Blaise raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“No, are you kidding?” Draco replied with poison in his voice. “I haven’t seen the man in ten years. What makes you think I care enough to see him now? He’s a right prick who deserves to rot.” He could feel his blood start to boil and took a deep breath to calm down. “I’m going to avoid him for as long as I’m able, until it’s forced upon me.”

“Your mother can be very persuasive,” Theo added.

“All the women in Draco’s life can be very persuasive,” said Blaise suggestively, picking up the Prophet and flipping it back to the front page. The two men chuckled to themselves at Draco’s expense. “Speaking of which, how is Granger? I see she’s wearing the bracelet you bought for her. Has she figured out your undying love for her yet?”

“No, at least I don’t think she has. For the brightest of our year, you’d think she’d have come to the conclusion already. She loved the bracelet though, seemed surprised I would get her anything. I bet she thought I forgot it was her birthday,” Draco said, slightly lost in thought.

“Well, birthday gifts usually work best when you actually give it to the girl, rather than leaving it in an unmarked box on her office desk every year,” Theo replied sarcastically, earning another chuckle from Blaise and a scowl from Draco.

“Anyway, you said you saw her today? Did she.. _spend the night_?” Blaise added suggestively, lifting his eyebrows in Draco’s direction. Draco rolled his eyes at him, shaking his head and taking another sip of his drink.

“No, she didn’t. But. We are going on a date this Friday night after work. So, that’s something,” he replied with a shrug.

“A real date? Or is this another one of your lame excuses to spend more time with her?” Theo chimed in. Draco knew he was joking about the multiple times throughout the years Draco had offered to work on projects he knew Granger was also working on and taking any excuse to walk to her department.

“A real date. She asked me earlier today. I already have it all planned out,” he replied and proceeded to finish off his drink.

“Of course you do. You’ve probably had your first date with her planned out since fourth year,” Blaise added as Draco shrugged again. “I still don’t understand why you had to wait for her to ask. That’s the exact opposite of the Draco Malfoy I know. You could have asked her the minute her divorce was finalized, or better yet, on the train back to Hogwarts for eighth year, or the three hundred other times you had the chance to ask her while we were still in school. She wasn’t married back then, and we all know you would’ve won her over against that weasel.”

“No, I don’t think I would have,” Draco said, sighing. “I’ve told you this a hundred times over. She was happy, and I didn’t want to take that away from her. I wanted nothing more than for her to be happy. That’s still all I want for her. Plus, I doubt she would’ve even believed me; I was a right git if you remember. And when it comes to asking her after the divorce...She had been having a very difficult time with it. I think she still is, but she’s slowly being brought back to life. I can see it in her. I’ve waited more than fourteen years; I’m willing to wait a little longer if it means having all of her.”

“Well, aren’t you the hopeless romantic?” Theo joked as Draco shrugged again. Just then, Salma called for last rounds, signaling the closing of the bar. “Alright then, Draco, do you want the paper for the photographs, or can I toss it out?”

“Sure, I’ll take it,” Draco said with a smirk, pulling the Prophet out of Theo’s hand. Blaise and Theo raised their eyebrows at him as he chuckled. “What? You did just call me a hopeless romantic after all.”

“Can’t keep your hands off her, can you? Even in photograph form,” Blaise replied, shaking his head as they made their way out the door.

“No, I really can’t.”

————

The next morning, Draco walked through level two of the Ministry, doing his best to avoid eye contact with everyone. As he opened the door to his office, he paused. In what should have been his empty chair sat Harry Potter, himself. He had his feet up on the desk with his ankles crossed, reading the Daily Prophet. The top half of the paper fell forward as Potter looked up at his coworker.

“Morning, Malfoy. What can I do for you?” Potter asked calmly, turning his eyes back to the paper.

“Isn’t that something _I_ should be asking _you_? Seeing as _you’re_ in _my_ office?” Draco responded, as he walked further into the room, leaving the door open. “And get your feet off my desk, by the way.” Potter did as requested, resting his feet onto the floor and laying the paper on the desk. Draco sat down in one of the visitor chairs, knowing that Potter wouldn’t be getting up any time soon. “Well?”

“Well,” Potter repeated, “I don’t know if you saw today’s Prophet in regards to your father...” Draco scowled, having a bad feeling about the looming conversation. “But based on your expression, I’m assuming you already know. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Let me ask you this, Potter: has my personal life ever effected my job performance?” Draco leaned back into the chair he was currently occupying, resting his right foot on top of his left knee and linking his hands together.

“Not particularly, but—” Potter started, but Draco was quick to interrupt.

“Then I don’t see how it would cause a problem now.” Draco took a silent breath in and rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension he always held when thinking about his father.

“I’m not asking as your boss; I’m asking as your friend,” Potter replied, clearly conveying concern in his voice.

“Then ask me while we’re not in the office,” Draco responded dismissively. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes, actually,” said Potter, lightening his tone, “but I think it’s another friend-type question that will have to wait until after hours.” Draco sighed in frustration and then raised his hand, gesturing for Potter to continue. “A little birdie told me that you and Hermione are going out on a date on Friday night.” Just then, Seamus Finnigan peaked his head in the doorway as he was walking by.

“Did I hear you and Hermione are going out on a date?” Finnigan chimed in. “Good for you, Malfoy. Finally plucked up the courage to ask her, huh?” Draco scowled and crossed his arms in response. The two chuckled at Draco’s expense, reminding him of Theo and Blaise. Finnigan continued on his way down the hall, not bothering to wait for a reply.

“I’m glad you find my life so amusing,” Draco mumbled sarcastically.

“Come on, Malfoy. You know it’s all in good fun,” Potter replied, as his chuckle died down. “You know we’ve been rooting for you since we found out you were in love with her.” Draco’s scowl deepened, and he raised his eyebrows, waiting for the punchline. “I’m serious. I know I’ve only known for less than a year, but with everything you’ve done for her, especially within the past few months, I honestly think you make her better. Just be sure to treat her right, will you?”

“I can’t treat her any worse than what she’s already been through. There’s a pretty low bar that’s been set,” Draco said, as Potter finally stood from his seat and made his way to the door.

“I guess it goes without saying,” Potter sighed, turning back toward his coworker. “Anyway, speaking of Hermione, I set up a meeting about the Selwyns’ house-elves this morning, starts at ten-thirty, in the big conference room. I have a feeling we’re going to need all hands on deck for it.”

“Granger will want to be in on that meeting. I’m surprised she hasn’t made her way up here to remind us. Did you see her face when those house-elves came in at the reception? She was about ready to hex the whole family.” Draco’s left hand flinched slightly at the memory of squeezing her knee to calm her.

“I couldn’t see her from where I was sitting, but I did hear some very loud ‘thank you’s’ coming from your table when they brought the food over.” Draco gave a breathy chuckle at the comment. “But, yeah, she’ll want to be in on the meeting. Would you mind going downstairs and getting her when the time comes?”

“I’m not going to say no to that,” Draco replied with a smirk as he stood from the visitor chair to make his way over to his own. He heard a muttered “any excuse” from Potter, which he chose to ignore. His eye’s glanced over his father’s photograph on the Daily Prophet that was still laying on his desk. Just as Potter was on his way out, Draco called him back. “Hey, Potter? I know I don’t say this very often but...thanks. You’re a good friend.” Potter nodded understandingly before walking out of the office, and Draco finally sat down at his desk to start the morning.

A few hours later, as discussed, Draco made his way down to level four to let Granger know about the meeting the Aurors were having about the Selwyns. As he turned the corner, the first thing that stood out to him was that her office door was closed. She didn’t keep her door closed too often during normal working hours, only when she had a meeting or a visitor; it stood out, but it wasn’t too unusual.

“Timothy.” Draco nodded to her assistant who was sitting at his desk just outside her office. “I’m looking for Ms. Granger. She in her office?” Draco tried to sound casual, keeping his hands inside his front pants’ pockets as he walked past the desk and up to her door.

“Maybe,” Timothy replied uncertainly as he turned in his chair to follow Draco with his gaze. “I only got in about a half hour ago myself, and I haven’t seen her yet today. She might be in a meeting; it is Monday morning after all.”

“No, she told me yesterday she didn’t have anything scheduled for today,” Draco thought aloud, as he knocked twice on her door with the knuckle of his right forefinger. “Granger?” There was no response, which increased his concern. “You’re her assistant. Aren’t you supposed to know her schedule?” Draco tried the doorknob in vain. He thought briefly about unlocking her door himself, but he had a feeling he would just be wasting his time.

“Sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I don’t know what to tell you.” Timothy shrugged as he looked down at the calendar that rested on his desk. “I don’t have anything listed on the schedule for today. But who knows? Maybe something came up that she forgot to mention?” Draco sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing Timothy obviously didn’t know her well enough if he was willing to make that statement. _And people wonder why she had gone through so many assistants within the past few years._

“You’re pretty useless, aren’t you?” Draco mumbled as he walked in long strides back down the hall, not bothering to wait for a response. Instead of taking a right, back to lift, he took a left. After a short distance, he ran into the one man who should be remotely more helpful than Granger’s assistant: her boss, Mr. Weldon Vassar.

“Mr. Malfoy! Pleasure to see you. It’s been a while. How have you been, my boy?” Mr. Vassar was always a pleasant man, but unfortunately he caught Draco at a bad time.

“I’m fine, Mr. Vassar. Thank you,” he replied shortly. “I’m actually looking for Ms. Granger. Have you seen her today?” They continued down the hallway, further into the department where the few cubicles sat.

“Did you check her office? That would be my best guess.” Draco sighed, trying to prevent his impatience from being noticed. It seemed as though everyone in this department was incompetent. _How can she work with these people?_

“Right,” said Draco, as he stopped and let his eyes linger around the department, looking for signs of anything unusual. Spotting nothing, he jogged forward a few steps to catch back up with Mr. Vassar. “So, you haven’t received any notice that she would be out today?”

“Are you kidding? I don’t think that girl has taken a single unscheduled absence since she’s been here.” Mr. Vassar lifted his hand to present two fingers in Draco’s direction. “I always say, if there are only two things Hermione is good at, it’s attendance.” He counted down one finger. “And everything else.” He chuckled at his own joke, poking Draco in the shoulder with the remaining finger.

“Right,” Draco repeated, not considering Mr. Vassar’s joke to be very funny. He sighed again and ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he had picked up over the years.

“Is..erm..everything alright, Mr. Malfoy?” Sensing the tone in conversation, Mr. Vassar’s mood changed from a jolly soul to a worried boss. He spoke quietly, clearly not wanting to alarm the rest of his employees. “Is there reason to be concerned?”

“Not yet. Just let the Auror Department know if you hear from her, will you?” Draco replied, as he began his trek back to his own department. He walked briskly, feeling grateful that he didn’t run into anything that would delay him; even the lift seemed to sense his urgency. He made his way to the conference room that was down the hall from his office. He took a breath before opening the door slightly.

Draco poked his head in, keeping his hand on the doorknob. Potter was at the head of the table as always, luckily seated closest to the doorway. The custom was to wait until all anticipated members had arrived. Draco’s eyes roamed over all the members, skimming over the two empty seats near the opposite end of the table. They had been waiting for them, but he was only half of the expected party.

“Potter?” Draco called, ignoring all the other heads that turned in his direction. “Can I speak with you in hall for a moment?” Potter gave him a confused look but nodded. Draco opened the door a little wider for Potter to walk through, before closing it behind him, even though it did nothing to quiet the mumbling that started inside the conference room. He turned back around to see Potter with his arms crossed in front of his chest, waiting for an explanation.

“Granger’s not downstairs. Her office was locked; I didn’t bother unlocking it. She hasn’t been heard from or seen by her assistant or her boss all morning. She told me yesterday she had nothing on her schedule for the day, and I confirmed that with her assistant. I didn’t see anything suspicious while I was downstairs either.” Draco recapped and listed his facts routinely, as if it were any other case.

“Okay,” Potter replied, not sounding concerned, the opposite of what Draco had expected of him. “Maybe she went to grab breakfast?”

“Do you truly believe that?” Draco sighed, feeling more and more irritated by the minute. Potter shrugged, as if his idea were plausible. “In the past year and a half, how many times has Granger eaten breakfast, let alone gone to the cafeteria by herself? I’m telling you, something’s wrong.” There was a handful of silent seconds while they shared eye contact and Potter contemplated his options.

“Alright,” Potter replied finally. “I trust you. Let’s go find her.” Potter walked back over to the conference room door as Draco said a quick “thanks.” “Well, I figured if I don’t come with you, you’ll probably end up doing something stupid.” Potter opened the door and stuck his head into the room. “Malfoy and I are heading out for a while. Seamus, you’re in charge until we get back.” Draco rolled his eyes as he heard a loud “yes!” coming from inside the room. “And don’t start the Selwyn case without us. I want to be the one in charge of it.” Potter left the door open as he began the walk toward the Floo network. It went without saying that Granger’s apartment would be the first place to check.

“You think they’ll be able to make it on their own for a little while? They’ve been so used to being babysat,” Draco said, elongating his stride to catch up with Potter without having to jog.

“You want to wait another half hour for me to provide instruction?” Potter said bitterly, as he grabbed some Floo powder from the bag hanging on the side of the fireplace. Draco gave a short “no,” and Potter replied, “Alright then.”

After making it through the Floo, Draco was greeted by the familiar scene of the hallway that led to Granger’s front door. They both pulled out their wands, readying themselves for the worst. Potter took the lead down the hallway, Draco following close behind. They had been working together for so many years that it was like second nature.

Potter leaned his ear up against her door, listened for a moment, and then shook his head silently, signaling he couldn’t hear anything. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. He proceeded to perform the simple charms to counter the ones she used to keep her door locked. Ever so carefully and quietly, he successfully turned the doorknob and inched the door open, leading with his wand. Draco was almost grateful he had thought to bring Potter along. Without him, he probably would’ve just bull-rushed right into her apartment (one of the stupid things that Potter had formerly mentioned).

Potter was already halfway through the kitchen when Draco entered the room. The first thing that Draco noticed was that Granger’s shoes were still sitting by the door. He snapped his fingers once, just loud enough to be heard by Potter. Potter turned to face him, while quickly lifting his left forefinger to his lips, as if to quiet the noise. Draco vehemently pointed to the shoes, until Potter’s expression changed into one of perplexity and he nodded.

Draco silently signaled to Potter that they should make their way to Granger’s bedroom, and once again, Potter nodded in agreement. They inched their way further into the empty living room, when Potter suddenly lifted his hand, cuing Draco to stop moving. After about ten seconds of silence, there was a sound: a short whimper, so quiet that if they weren’t listening for it, they would’ve missed it. The men shared a quick look of concern before they made their way toward what they thought was the direction of the noise. There, they heard it again, only this time slightly louder, coming from the closed bathroom door.

“Hermione?” Potter called, hesitantly.

“H-Harry?!” The men heard the familiar voice of the witch they had come looking for. Draco exhaled in relief, one mystery solved. “Oh, Harry!” It sounded as if she were crying, or in pain, or both. Draco reached for the bathroom doorknob as an automatic response, before Potter grabbed onto the shoulder of his suit jacket to stop him from going any further.

“Hermione, are you okay?” Potter called back. Draco rolled his eyes, as she clearly wasn’t okay.

“N-No,” she cried. “I overslept and was in a rush this morning.” Draco and Potter shared a confused look; oversleeping certainly didn’t sound like her. “That panic feeling happened to me again. While I was in the shower. I slipped and fell. I think I broke my ankle; I can’t put any weight on it. I left my wand in my bedroom too, so I couldn’t very well do anything about it. I look pretty pathetic actually. At least I was able to turn the water off.” She paused in between sentences to breathe, her breathing loud enough to be heard through the door.

“Well, we’re here now. We’re going to come in, alright?” Potter let go of Draco’s shoulder but shooed his hand away from the doorknob.

“ _We_?” They heard her whine. “Who’s _we_?”

“I got Malfoy here with me,” Potter replied slowly, clearly not wanting to tell her that Draco was with him. A loud, embarrassed groan resonated through the door, as Potter grabbed on to the doorknob. “Are you decent?”

“No, but I guess it’s fine. Whatever,” they heard her say in a taut voice, as they shared another confused glance. Potter finally inched the door open, and Draco took in the scene before him. Granger’s head was peaking out from behind the shower curtain, resting her chin on the ledge of the bathtub. Her hair was soaking, and her eyes were bloodshot. She wasn’t wrong when she had said she looked pathetic, if her head was anything to go on. He tried giving her a sympathetic smile, as she sighed. It was definitely a better outcome than the hundreds of worst-case scenarios that had roamed through his head since going to her office not too long ago. She lifted her arm past the curtain and pointed toward them.

“My towel’s hanging on the back of the door.” Potter grabbed her blue towel and gave it to Granger’s outstretched hand. She tugged the curtain further closed to cover her head. There was about a five second delay until she finally spoke up again with another sigh. “Okay, can someone help me up now, please?” Draco instinctively took a step forward before being stopped by Potter’s hand on his chest. He scowled as Potter patted him twice on the chest to keep him stationary and walked toward the bathtub in his stead.

Draco looked on as Potter peaked his head in behind the shower curtain, nodded, and pulled it open, revealing Granger with her towel that was thankfully large enough to cover her. Potter began fixing the towel, wrapping it further underneath her, and Draco looked down to preserve her modesty. He heard her hiss in pain and a quick apology from Potter, but he still kept his eyes to the floor, subconsciously rolling his wand between his fingers.

“You can look now,” Draco heard her say with a brittle voice. He slowly raised his head, finally taking her all in. She was sitting on the ledge of the bathtub now, with Potter standing beside her, his hand resting between her shoulder blades. Draco grimaced at the sight of her black and blue ankle that was slightly sticking out from underneath the bottom of the towel. Her left hand was gripping onto the edge of the towel near her right shoulder, and her right arm was wrapped around her abdomen, as if she were physically trying to hold herself together. The skin that showed was covered in water droplets, from her hair that was still dripping. Her face was red; whether that was from embarrassment, pain, or the hot water of the shower, Draco wasn’t sure, but the natural blush helped her few freckles stand out a little more. They locked eyes, hers still bloodshot and his still full of concern. She took in a shaky breath. “I hope I look better than I feel.”

“You look beautiful,” Draco replied genuinely, taking a hesitant step forward. Granger rolled her eyes at his comment with a smile, probably thinking he was just teasing her.

“Alright, Hermione,” Potter interjected. He moved from his spot beside her to between them, causing Draco to break out of his stupor. “I don’t know a lot of healing spells, but I have learned a few diagnosing ones over the years. Let’s see if we can figure out what’s wrong with your ankle, huh?” She nodded, agreeing with the idea. Draco sat down on the toilet seat cover, as Potter kneeled down on the floor in front of Granger and proceeded with his plan.

“What time is it, anyway?” she asked, as if trying to distract herself. Potter rested her foot on his thigh, which caused her to flinch, and went to work on his first spell. Draco glanced down at his watch, and Granger turned her eyes to him.

“Almost eleven. Your entire department is inept, by the way, didn’t even realize you hadn’t shown up for work.” Draco scowled, his irritation from the morning slowly returning. “Your assistant is completely useless; you’d be better off being your own assistant.”

“You’re probably right,” Granger replied with a breathy chuckle, as Potter continued on to his next spell on her ankle. “So what, if they didn’t realize? I’d be more surprised if they did. I usually keep to myself anyway; I get more accomplished that way. What made you two realize I was missing?” She moved her gaze back down toward Potter, who paused what he was doing and looked up at her.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Potter said admittedly. “It was Malfoy who noticed, had to convince me to help him find you.” She looked back up at Draco with raised eyebrows, questioningly. He shrugged nonchalantly in response.

“We were about to start work on the Selwyn investigation. I figured you’d want to be in on the meeting. I went down to your office, but you weren’t there. Nobody had seen you all morning, so I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make sure you were alright. It’s no big deal, honestly.” Draco glanced down briefly at Potter, who rolled his eyes in his direction without being seen by Granger.

“You say it’s no big deal,” she sighed, “but I think a thank you is in order anyway. Who knows how long I’d be laying there if you hadn’t thought to come find me? So, thank you.” He nodded, understanding where she was coming from. It must have been terrifying to be laying there in pain with no one around to help.

“As sentimental as this is,” Potter interrupted from his spot on the floor. “Hermione, the good news is it’s not broken. The bad news is it is sprained, and you’re going to have to make a trip to St. Mungo’s.” Granger grimaced at the suggestion. “It shouldn’t take too long. Malfoy, why don’t you take her to get checked out, and I’ll head back to the office to start on an incident report?” Draco nodded, agreeing with the idea.

“Could you get my wand from my bedroom, while Harry helps me get dressed?” Granger asked shyly, and Draco silently wished he had been given the task in Potter’s stead. Still, he agreed, stood, and made his way out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair, and walked toward her bedroom. He took his time, not knowing how long it would take her to get dressed.

Draco furrowed his brow upon entering her room. Everything seemed to be in order, for the most part. Crookshanks’s scratching post still sat in the corner, slowly collecting dust from the months of being unused. Her wand sat on her bedside table, next to the muggle device she used to communicate with her parents, along with the box that had held the bracelet he had given her. There was only one thing that stood out from the otherwise normal room: his long, black dress coat was resting on top of her bed. It was unfolded, slightly wrinkled, lying lengthwise haphazardly, near in the center. Her bed had been made, but there was an indent in the duvet and the pillow, as if she had slept on top of it and used his coat to cover herself. Draco smiled slightly at the idea that his jacket was providing her comfort, wondering if that was what caused her to oversleep.

He took in another breath, walked over to the table, and picked up her wand as requested. He subconsciously grazed his hand along the imprint of her bed, before remembering his place and walking back to the bathroom door. Just as he was about to knock, Potter opened the door, took her wand from Draco’s hand, and gave it back to its owner, who was now fully dressed.

“Thanks,” Granger said to Draco, and held up two fingers. “Two minutes. I just have to dry my hair.” Potter put his arm around Draco’s shoulders, leading him away from the bathroom as Granger closed the door behind her.

“Now,” Potter started quietly, “I know you guys have that date on Friday night, but you have to treat every opportunity as if it’s a date. I think this is would be a perfect opportunity for the two of you. Work your magic, so to speak.”

“If I’m being honest, Potter, I don’t think I need your help with the subject.” Draco shrugged Potter’s arm off of him and rolled his eyes.

“Obviously you do. I’m not the one who’s been in love with a girl for— Hermione!” Draco turned rapidly around to see Granger standing in the doorway of the bathroom. Her hair was finally dry, and she was holding on to the side of the door frame, leaning all of her weight on her good leg. “Like I said, I’m heading back to the office. Hermione, I’ll let your boss know you won’t be making it in for the rest of the day. And Malfoy? I expect a _detailed report_ by tomorrow morning.” Draco heard the double entendre in his voice; he knew Potter just wanted to hear the latest gossip. Potter walked out of the apartment without another word. Granger gave Draco a confused look, but she didn’t say anything and Draco didn’t want to comment.

“Ready to go?” He asked, trying to sound relaxed. She nodded and tried hobbling over in his direction. Draco was quick to get to her side, letting her hold onto his arm before she could fall. It was a half hour long struggle of getting her shoes on and getting through the Floo (as she was in no position to Apparate); he also left her in the waiting room to check her into the Ground Floor of St. Mungo’s, rather than making her walk all the way through the floor.

“Should only be a few minutes. Are you feeling any better?” Draco asked as he sat down beside her in the waiting room.

“A little. I took some pain relief potion before we left, which is finally kicking in,” she said with a sigh as she looked down at her bruised ankle. “You don’t have to wait with me, you know?”

“Yes, I do. Potter would have my head if I didn’t stay, not that I need a reason. I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you this morning, by the way.” Draco sighed, feeling frustrated with himself. He rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands together in thought.

“Unless I hit head when I fell, I’m pretty sure you were there with me. Especially since you wouldn’t be here now if you weren’t.” He could hear the smirk in her voice, but her teasing didn’t relieve his vexation.

“No, no, before that. You said you had another anxiety attack. It’s just that I had been helping you get through them and for you to have to go through it alone..” His voice trailed off, with the hopes that she understood what he was trying to say.

“You don’t have to take responsibility for me. I hope you know that.” She gently put her hand on his shoulder, and he turned his head toward her. He wanted to tell her about how he was going to bring her a coffee from the cafeteria that morning, but then Potter had told him about that meeting; he had changed his mind, figuring he could wait to see her until then. He couldn’t tell her that though. _Hopeless romantic, indeed._

“I do. I know,” he said instead. “It’s just..if only I had—”

“Malfoy?” Hermione interrupted, and he stopped before he could say anything too revealing to her. “If it’s one thing I’ve learned in the past year, it’s that ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’ will drive you out of your mind. Not that I’m in any position to be giving advice, of course.” Draco sighed but nodded. “Plus, if _you_ start feeling guilty because of _me_ , then _I’ll_ start feeling guilty for making _you_ feel guilty, and it’ll just become an unending cycle of guilt. I think we’d both be better off if we avoided the whole thing.” He nodded again in agreement, and they shared a smile. Draco sat up straight and rolled his shoulders back to relieve some of his tension. “This doesn’t count as our date, right? We’re still on for Friday?” She sounded nervous as her eyes roamed around the waiting room.

“So long as you’re still up for it, and your ankle isn’t a deterrent,” he replied, and she nodded but continued avoiding his eye contact. Just then, a mediwitch called for her from the doorway. Draco stood and helped Granger stand, but the mediwitch came over to walk her to another room.

“I’m going to grab a drink from the tearoom. Do you want anything?” Draco asked as he followed behind Granger who was being led away.

“Coffee would be nice. Cream and sugar? And ask for extra, if you could? Every place I’ve been never seems to add enough for my taste,” she replied, leaning on the mediwitch as they walked. He agreed as Granger and the mediwitch went down a separate hallway. On his way toward the lift, he saw the one person that would make this long day even longer.

“Mother, how are you?” Draco asked as he stepped into the lift, grateful that St. Mungo’s had enough lifts to avoid having to share with anyone else.

“Draco, I’m surprised to see you. You said you couldn’t take time off of work to come here,” his mother replied, keeping her elegance as always.

“Well, I’m...technically working. Granger sprained her ankle; I’m accompanying her. She’s being seen by a mediwitch now, so I’m just going up to the tearoom while I wait for her,” he replied, not bothering to ask why she was there. Narcissa hummed in response.

“I suppose it would have been foolish of me to think you’d be here to visit your father,” she replied softly. Draco didn’t say anything, not wanting to start an argument, but she continued on as if he had. “He’s on the Fourth Floor, if you could find the time.” He sighed in aggravation.

“Mother, I’m not going to be seeing him. Now if you wouldn’t mind letting it go?” The lift stopped on the Third Floor, causing their conversation to pause briefly. Luckily for Draco, the lift closed and continued on without anyone entering.

“Draco, he wasn’t a bad father, you know that,” she said as if it were a fact, rather than a question. “At least not as bad as you make him out to be. He had done everything he could to protect us.” Draco could hear the sadness in her voice, but when he looked over at her, she kept a stoic expression. He furrowed his brow and turned his attention back to the lift door. The lift opened once again, stopping on the Fourth Floor. Narcissa stepped out but turned around to face her son. “Please, Draco?” He sighed deeply and also stepped out of the lift.

“I suppose I could spare a few minutes, but I’m not promising anything,” he replied but also knew that years of conflict couldn’t be resolved in the few minutes he was willing to spare. He silently hoped Granger’s examination was taking longer than they had anticipated. Draco followed half a step behind his mother, trusting her to know the way to his father’s room.

There were two Ministry officers (people who Draco had no business in knowing personally and never even bothered learning their names) standing on either side of the door. There was a sign-in sheet on a nearby table. Narcissa picked up the quill, quickly signed her name, and proceeded to give her wand to one of the members. She stood off to the side, waiting for Draco. He sighed again and walked up to the table. Looking down at the sheet, he noticed that his mother’s name was the only one listed, multiple times, signaling that his father didn’t have any other visitors. He picked up the quill, dipped it in ink, and paused for just a moment, before signing his name underneath his mother’s neat handwriting.

“Wand?” The officer closest to Draco asked, as he held out a palm-up hand. Draco looked at the wizard’s hand, and then looked up at him, raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, seeing as how I’m an Auror,” Draco replied, perturbed with the idea of leaving his wand behind.

“It is necessary. If you’d like to enter the room, I need your wand. No exceptions.” The officer gestured his open hand again, waiting for Draco to comply. Draco’s eyes glanced over to his mother, who raised her eyebrows at him. He sighed again, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair, and took his wand out of his front pants’ pocket and placed it in the officer’s hand. The Ministry member on the opposite side opened the door for them, allowing them entry. Draco followed behind his mother once again, and the door closed behind him. He instantly recognized the wards that had been placed and nodded to himself approvingly.

Draco took a deep breath, finally looking to the man he had once called his father, who was laying on his bed, not registering that he even had company. Draco remembered him as someone who was strong and arrogant. Now, Lucius was nothing but frail and haggard. His hair was disheveled. He looked thin and sickly with his face sunken in, which had nothing to do with the splinching that occurred just yesterday. He looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days, and Draco supposed he hadn’t. There was a dullness in his eyes that Draco hadn’t ever seen. It felt so odd to think that this man was once his father.

“Lucius, I brought someone with me today,” Narcissa said quietly, breaking the silence, as she sat down in the visitor chair that was in corner. Draco decided to continue standing, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Lucius finally looked up and registered Narcissa; his movements were slow and calculating. Then his eyes lingered over to where Draco stood and his relaxed face changed into that of a scowl, reminding Draco of his younger years.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Lucius asked Narcissa but kept his eyes on his son. His voice was gruff from underuse. “Finally decided his family was more important than that Mudblood?” Narcissa gasped sharply at the word, but Draco chose to ignore it; he had heard his father say so much worse before so he let it slide for the time being. Still, he kept his eyes locked on his father, knowing that based on how the conversation started, it wouldn’t be having a very good ending.

“Lucius, you know how I feel about this. Ms. Granger is a wonderful girl, and I think she would be a great addition—” Narcissa started to defend her son, but Lucius was quick to interrupt.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Cissa. We don’t need that girl mucking up the family name.” Lucius pushed himself up with his elbows so that he was sitting up a little taller, failing to appear intimidating, if that was what he was aiming for.

“Don’t need her mucking up the family name?” Draco repeated, uncrossing his arms and taking a step toward his father. “Why? You want that honor all to yourself?” Lucius tried to interrupt again, but Draco didn’t let him get a word in and took another step. “Mother tries to defend you, says you did your best to protect us, but I’m not a child anymore. I can see right through you. All you’ve ever cared about was yourself and the great Malfoy name, and where did that get you? A lifetime sentence in Azkaban. The only thing you’ll be remembered as is a bigoted, old fool. So much for the great Malfoy name, huh, Father?” Draco took a deep breath and clenched his fists to get himself to calm down.

“Are you finished?” Lucius asked with a drawl in his voice, keeping the well-known scowl on his face.

“Yeah,” Draco whispered and then spoke up a little louder. “I’m finished with you. I didn’t come here today for you; I came for Mother’s sake, but I don’t need you or your prejudices or your bigotry. It’s only brought pain to the people I love, and I refuse to have my name be associated with it any longer.” Draco turned his head toward Narcissa. “I’m sorry, Mother. If he ever changes his ways, you can let me know, but in the meantime, I’m done.” He nodded emphatically to his mother, whose eyes began to water, and walked out the door.

Draco picked up his wand from the officer outside the door and finally continued on his way to the tearoom. He ordered two coffees, one for himself and one for Granger (remembering the extra cream and sugar per her request), and a muffin, knowing that she hadn’t eaten all morning. He made his way back down to the Ground Floor to wait for her. Fortunately for him, he had finally calmed down from his meeting with his father. He saw Granger standing in front of him when the lift door opened.

“Hey,” she said, sounding pleasantly confused. “I guess it didn’t take as long as we thought it would. I didn’t see you in the waiting room, so I figured you were still up in the tearoom.” She paused as he handed her her coffee and the bag with the muffin; she gave him a quick “thanks” as he ran his free hand through his hair. “You okay? You look a little stressed.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he replied with a sigh, not wanting to worry her about his problems. He got off the lift, and they began to walk back to the Floo, Granger holding onto his wrist to help balance herself while keeping her coffee and paper bag in the another hand. Her thumb grazed his palm lightly before she suddenly stopped walking. Draco watched as she turned his wrist over and looked down at his hand; she stared at the crescents that had formed from clenching his hands too tightly. She thumbed the indents before looking up at him.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Granger asked gently.

“You need to learn how to worry more about yourself than about everyone else. Everything’s fine, Granger. Trust me,” he replied emphatically. She furrowed her brow slightly but nodded.

“Okay, I trust you.” They continued on their slow walk toward the Floo, and Draco felt the need to fill the silence.

“How did the appointment go? Is your ankle any better?”

“Oh, much better!” she said with a smile. “They gave me some bruise removal paste to put on it. The healer said to stay off of it until the bruising goes away, doesn’t want me to go into work tomorrow. If you could tell Mr. Vassar for me?”

“Of course. I can do that,” he replied as they reached the Floo and returned to the hallway of her apartment. She turned toward him when they reached her door. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Thanks, and thanks for being with me today,” Granger replied shyly, with her eyes down. He put his empty hand on her hip, reminding himself of Blaise’s comment of not being able to keep his hands off of her. “You know...the last couple times we’ve stood here...” She paused, took a deep breath, and finally whispered, “I’ve been wanting you to kiss me. Maybe I’m just bad at giving signals.”

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you too,” he said quietly, forgetting all about his hectic day and focusing all of his energy on her. She looked up at him in surprise. “I just haven’t because...you’ve had so much going on, and I didn’t want to add to it.”

“You couldn’t have added to it. If anything, you’re the one helping me get through it all.” She paused again as he rubbed his thumb into her hip in small circles. She sighed, in what he hoped was content. “Are you going to kiss me _now_?”

“No,” he replied simply, and she pursed her lips in frustration. He let out a breathy chuckle at her expense. “We haven’t even gone out on one date, Granger; you have to slow down a little.” She nodded slowly, as he leaned in, his lips barely brushing her ear. “But don’t worry...it’ll be worth the wait.” As he kissed her temple, she sighed and turned her head slightly toward him, as if begging him to contradict what he had just said. She was putty in his hands. It took everything he had to remind himself that this wasn’t the perfect moment he had planned, as much as his other head was telling him it was. He pulled back and removed his hand from her hip. After she took a moment to open her eyes, he nodded to the bag in her hand.

“There’s a muffin in there. Don’t forget to eat. I have to get back to work, but I’ll see you later in the week.” He began to walk backwards until he reached the corner of the hallway, wanting to give his mind just a few more seconds to memorize the moment. He gave her a short nod goodbye. She still had a dazed look in her eye but raised her hand in a small wave. He turned the corner toward the Floo. Oh, did he have a _detailed report_ for Potter.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, Hermione and her ankle were feeling much better. Even though it still slightly hurt to walk, she decided to make her way into work, despite the Healer’s orders to rest. She had the notion that she could always just rest at her desk; she didn’t need to walk around too much to accomplish tasks. So there she was, limping slowly down the hallway from the Floo. She stopped, seeing Malfoy and Mr. Vassar standing just past the cross section of the hallway that led to her office. Malfoy was probably informing her boss that she wouldn’t be making in that day, just as she had asked of him. Still, she took a breath and continued, hoping they wouldn’t see her.

“Granger!” _So much for getting work done._ Malfoy walked toward her in his typical long strides with Mr. Vassar waddling behind. “You’re supposed to be resting. What are you doing here?”

“Usually when someone shows up to work, they’re there to work,” she quipped as she tried to walk past him. He intercepted her path, sticking out his arm to prevent her from continuing. “Malfoy, seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” he replied with a stern look in his eye. “You need to be resting, and working is the opposite of resting.”

“He’s not wrong, Ms. Granger,” Mr. Vassar chimed in, slightly out of breath from walking the few feet. “In fact, if you don’t go home right now, I’ll have you fired.” She looked up at him, mouth gaping. “You heard me. We can hold the castle down here.”

“It’s ‘hold down the fort,’” she corrected automatically, with a roll of her eyes toward Malfoy to prevent her boss from seeing her lack of respect. “Honestly, if you don’t know the phrases, just don’t use them.”

“Come on, Granger. I’ll walk you back to your apartment,” Malfoy said with a chuckle, as he grabbed onto her hand to give her something to lean on as they walked.

“Fine, fine,” Hermione replied, knowing the battle was lost. “If you could please start on that investigation against the Selwyns though? I don’t want my absence postponing anything. Those house-elves need to be accounted for, and I can’t—”

“Don’t worry about it, Granger. You know the order of things. We’ll do our part, and then pass it off to you for your part. And you know how it goes; if someone is breaking one law, who knows how many more they’re breaking? I have a bad feeling it’ll be much larger than what you’re imagining, but we have to start at the beginning regardless.” Hermione nodded as she made her way through the Floo, Malfoy following behind.

“You’ll keep me updated on the whole thing, won’t you?” she asked as she limped slowly, holding onto his outstretched arm. He gave her a quick “of course” as they turned the corner to her apartment.

“Just getting in? Long night for you?” Ginny teased. She was in front of Hermione’s apartment door, leaning against the opposite wall as if she had been waiting for quite some time. Hermione rolled her eyes as she and Malfoy continued down the hall.

“No, I was kicked out of the Ministry today by Mr. Vassar, said he’d fire me if I didn’t go home,” Hermione replied. Ginny pushed herself off the wall, giving Hermione a concerned look. “Before you ask, I wasn’t going to work too hard. I was just going to sit at my desk, which would have been the same as resting here. I don’t know why I can’t work.”

“Because you’re not supposed to be on your ankle at all; that’s why,” Malfoy interjected, letting go of Hermione’s arm as they reached her door. “I have to get back to work. Keep an eye on her, huh, Red?”

“I don’t need to be babysat,” Hermione said sharply and began unlocking her apartment door.

“Obviously you do,” Ginny replied with a roll of her eyes. “That’s why I’m here. I’ll keep her out of trouble, Malfoy. Thanks for bringing her home.” Ginny and Malfoy shared a nod. Hermione and Ginny walked into the apartment, and Malfoy went on his way back to work. “Harry told me a little bit about what happened yesterday, said you sprained your ankle?”

“Yeah, I did, but it’s not nearly as bad as it was before,” Hermione replied, shooed away Ginny’s hand, and stubbornly limped toward the built-in bench that sat underneath her bay window. Once she was seated, she nodded toward the Daily Prophet that she noticed was folded under Ginny’s arm. “Anything exciting in the Prophet?”

“Are you kidding?” Ginny asked, sitting down next to her friend. “When was the last time you read this thing? Have you not been following the news?”

“Well,” Hermione paused to remember the last time she even picked up the paper. “The wedding was on Saturday, so I was too busy getting ready for that. Sunday, you had come over in the morning and gave me a recap of it, so I didn’t bother to pick up my own copy. And yesterday, I sprained my ankle. So, no, I suppose I haven’t been following the news. Anything interesting?” Ginny had her mouth gaped open in confusion and took a moment before replying.

“Oh, I don’t know. Only Malfoy going to visit his father after ten years. Did you know anything about this?” Ginny held out the Daily Prophet, showing the headlines. Hermione grabbed the paper out of her hand to see for herself. ‘Malfoy Reunion at St. Mungo’s’ was the main headline title, with an old, moving photograph of Lucius Malfoy when he was first committed to Azkaban. Hermione’s eyes glanced over the article and found herself reading aloud.

“‘Mr. Draco Malfoy was seen entering his father’s room at St. Mungo’s early Monday morning, with his mother, Ms. Narcissa Malfoy. Sources say that the two entered Mr. Lucius Malfoy’s room around 11:30am. Draco spent approximately ten minutes in the room and left without his mother accompanying him. It is unknown what was discussed behind closed doors, but according to one source, Draco was apprehensive in relinquishing his wand to the members of the Improper Use of Magic Office who were guarding the room.’ This must have been while I was with the Healer. He looked a little stressed, but he said he was fine, so I didn’t question it.” Hermione looked up at Ginny in shock, wondering why he hadn’t mentioned anything about it.

“It continues on page four. You’re mentioned in a few sentences, if you want to read it?” Hermione flipped the pages of the paper and skimmed the article for her name. She continued on reading.

‘Mr. Draco Malfoy was also seen accompanying Ms. Hermione Granger to St. Mungo’s early Monday morning. Our staff does not have information on Ms. Granger’s condition due to confidentiality reasons, but she was seen on the Ground Floor limping, so one can conclude that her visit was due to an injury to her leg or foot. This is the third time Draco Malfoy has been publicly seen with Ms. Granger, other than work-related events. Following up from yesterday’s paper, Mr. Lucius Malfoy is still admitted in St. Mungo’s due to the known splinching incident on Sunday. It is unclear if Mr. Draco Malfoy’s visit to St. Mungo’s was for Ms. Granger’s sake or his father’s. We shall see in the coming weeks.’ Splinching incident? What do they mean, splinching incident?” Hermione looked to Ginny once again for confirmation.

“On Sunday. Malfoy’s father tried escaping Azkaban by Apparating, ended up splinching himself. Yesterday’s Prophet deemed it as a suicide attempt, just based on his request for the Kiss last week. The Prophet had interviewed a few of the Wizengamot members, who said something about how he had said he couldn’t go on anymore, with no family and with no reason to live. It makes you wonder what Malfoy ended up talking to him about.” Ginny stood and began walking to the kitchen. “Did you want some tea?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks. There’s milk in the fridge, if you need it.” Hermione replied, slightly lost in thought. “You said the paper deemed it a suicide attempt. That doesn’t seem like Lucius Malfoy though. He’s always been seen as being too prideful to consider offing himself.”

“Maybe,” Ginny said, turning the kettle on. “But who knows? Maybe he’s just as depressed as they make him out to be; it has been ten years of his lifetime sentence in Azkaban. Maybe it’s really effecting him.”

“I can see where he’s coming from, if that were the case; I mean, can’t we all?” Ginny gave her a concerned look the second the words left her mouth. “What? Haven’t you ever felt like there’s a dementor hovering above you when really there’s nothing there at all?” Hermione asked, casually.

“No,” Ginny replied, staring blankly at Hermione as if she were trying to comprehend. It felt so strange compared to the last time Hermione had brought up this feeling; Malfoy had understood exactly where she had been coming from without needing an explanation.

“I’m just saying I understand, not that I would actually do it. There’s no coming back from death, but with life...It might feel like the dark clouds will loom over you forever, but the sun will always come out again, even if it takes a long time; you just have to wait for it. You know what I mean?” Hermione asked, trying her best to make Ginny understand.

“I do,” Ginny replied, nodding as the kettle whistled. “Who knows? Maybe it wasn’t a suicide attempt, and Lucius just needed an excuse to get out of Azkaban for a while. I’ve heard of that happening, prisoners injuring themselves on purpose.”

“That’s true,” Hermione said, “but that doesn’t explain why Draco would go see his father after all these years. Maybe he was badly injured, and Draco felt the need to see him? The Prophet doesn’t mention his condition.” Hermione’s eyes glanced back over the article but not finding any clues. “I don’t want to ask him about it; he obviously didn’t want to talk about it when I asked yesterday.”

“Who knows? I wouldn’t worry about it, especially since you have your date to think about. Maybe that’s what they talked about, you and Malfoy dating. I bet he heard about it from Malfoy’s mother. Honestly, it’s probably nothing.” Ginny opened the refrigerator to get some milk for her tea.

“We’re not even truly dating yet, but yeah, I can see your point. It’s probably nothing,” Hermione repeated, even though she didn’t feel confident in that statement. Then she saw her best friend, standing frozen in front of the open refrigerator. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“Hermione?” Ginny turned her head toward her, keeping the refrigerator door open. “When did you go grocery shopping?” Ginny gave her a concerned look that made Hermione feel uneasy.

“Um...On Sunday? After I left the Burrow. Why? What’s wrong?” Hermione was just about to stand to find out what it was that gave Ginny that look, but Ginny raised her hand, stopping her from getting up. Ginny’s look of concern changed into one of relief as she sighed.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Ginny replied with a smile as she grabbed the milk off the door. “I just don’t think I’ve seen this refrigerator stocked since Ron moved out.”

“Oh, is that all?” Hermione asked as she leaned back against the lip of the bay window. “Honestly, I was just getting sick of you all buying food for me all the time. I’m able to fend for myself, you know.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Now we just need to buy you some furniture, and this place will finally become a livable space again," Ginny said teasingly with a smirk on her face.

“I suppose...I don’t think I’m here often enough to warrant anything like that. I’ll think on it though.”

————

As Hermione walked into her department on Wednesday, no longer limping, she saw Harry sitting at her assistant’s desk just outside her office, reading the Daily Prophet; thankfully, from where she could see, it didn’t have her or Malfoy’s face as part of the headlines. She took a deep breath, feeling the heaviness of a long day ahead of her.

“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione said pleasantly as she leafed through the letters that were lying in Timothy’s incoming box. She picked a few that looked to be of importance and continued to walk past Harry to unlock her office door. “How’s your week going?”

“Busy, but fine,” Harry replied, folding the paper and getting up from the desk to follow her into her office. “How’s the ankle?”

“Much better than yesterday. You can all stop worrying about me now,” she joked with a smile on her face as she placed her coffee down on her desk and threw her bag into the corner.

“We’ll always worry about you, Hermione. At least until...” Harry paused, the words left unsaid. Hermione knew what he had wanted to say though. At least until you get your act together...or at least until you’re better. “Anyway, I know you’ve been out the past couple days, but are you free this afternoon?” Hermione hummed in thought.

“I suppose I could make time. Did you want to do lunch?” she replied while skimming through one of the letters she had pulled off of Timothy’s desk and taking her place in her chair.

“No, actually,” Harry paused again, waiting until Hermione looked up at him with her full attention. “I have a meeting with Reginald Selwyn, Summer’s father at one o’clock. I was wondering if you’d be willing to be part of it.”

“I’m not his biggest fan, and I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” Hermione said, thinking back on her time at the wedding. “I suppose I’ll have to get over that though. This is about the house-elves, right? Did you learn anything yesterday?”

“We did. We didn’t do a complete raid of the Manor; I know you were hoping for that. We did do a walkthrough though and found twelve unaccounted house-elves, and their living quarters were subpar. I had a report written up. I have a lot of meetings scheduled for today, so I won’t have time for us to go over it together. Malfoy’s schedule is clear this morning; I’ll have him go over it with you. He was there, so he should be able to answer any questions you have.”

“Will he be there for the meeting with Selwyn?” Hermione asked doing her best to sound casual and to keep the hope out of her voice.

“No, he won’t. I’ll be there though, so you’ll have someone to lean on if you need,” Harry said teasingly, but she could hear the truth in his voice. She took another breath and nodded. “Anyway, I need to get going. I’ll send Malfoy down now though. I know you’ll want as much time as you can get to go over yesterday’s inspection.”

“That would be great. Thanks,” she replied, almost automatically as she pulled a couple quills and a bottle of ink from her desk drawer. “I’ll meet you at your office just before one.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I’ll see you then.” Hermione nodded and pulled some blank parchment towards her. She thought Harry would have left by then, but she could still feel his presence. She looked up at him curiously.

“Everything okay?” Harry opened his mouth slightly and then closed it again, as if he were about to tell her something and then changed his mind.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just...glad you’re around, that’s all,” he replied as he gave her a soft smile and nodded to himself. “I’ll see you later.” Harry then walked out the door, leaving a very confused Hermione in his wake.

————

By the time Hermione had finished with her correspondence regarding the morning’s incoming mail, Malfoy had walked into the doorway of her office. She found herself feeling suddenly nervous in his presence.

“Good morning. I hear your ankle is better than it was,” Malfoy said casually, as he shut the door behind him and passed her the copy of the report he was carrying.

“Y-yeah, much better,” she muttered and took a breath to calm her heart. “Harry mentioned the inspection that went on yesterday, but he didn’t have time to go over anything with me. Did you learn anything?” Her eyes began to skim the report, more so to prevent herself from staring at him for too long.

“Honestly,” Malfoy started as he sat down in one of the visitor chairs across from her desk, “there wasn’t much more than we were already expecting. We did a head count and found twelve unaccounted house-elves. We also did a walkthrough of their living quarters. You should be grateful you weren’t there.” He relaxed against the chair, resting his left foot on top of his right knee and linking his hands together.

“Why do you say that?” she asked, as she flipped past the first few summary pages of the report. “Was it that bad?”

“Let’s just say, you would’ve removed them from the premises the second you walked in. You took better care of your cat than they do of those house-elves.” Hermione traced her finger on the report as she skimmed the words, only half-listening to him speak. Then she stopped, coming to the living quarters section of the report.

“They don’t have beds?” She looked up at him. He brought his foot back down to the floor and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning slightly toward her. He only shrugged his right shoulder, providing no answer. “Where do they sleep?” She turned her eyes back to the pages, searching for any clue. “Straw? They sleep on straw beds?” Her eyes widened, not wanting to believe what she was reading.

“If you could even call them straw beds. Like I said, it was very poor living conditions. Potter spoke with the house-elves, while I walked through the rest of the Manor. I didn’t find anything relevant though.” Hermione took a deep breath and turned another few pages to the parts about Harry’s interviews.

“Did he mention anything to you about what they talked about?” Her heart was racing again, but no longer due to the man sitting across from her.

“Well, you know house-elves better than anybody. Unfortunately, they stand strongly by their masters, for lack of a better word.”

“Employers,” Hermione replied automatically, before looking back to him. “I use the word employers.” He nodded, understandingly. She took another deep breath before getting back to the subject at hand. “Is there anything else?”

“On page seven of the report.” Malfoy waited for her to flip to the appropriate page. “Upon questioning, Potter found out there are some...dietary restrictions?” She skimmed the page and found that “dietary restrictions” was the nicest way he could have put it.

“They don’t get fed if they don’t work hard enough?” Hermione whispered. She cleared her throat to get her voice back. He didn’t reply; he only stared at her with a somber expression. “So, we have a man who has twelve house-elves on the premises. The house-elves are going unpaid without proper clothing, proper diet, proper living quarters, and proper documentation. Is that all?” She blinked rapidly to stop her eyes from tearing up, feeling her temper rising.

“Is that not enough?” Malfoy asked simply. She honestly hadn’t seen anything like this case since the laws were first introduced.

“Why couldn’t you remove them from that place?” Hermione asked aggressively. “Why couldn’t you remove them? What more would he have had to do?” She pounded her fist onto the desk and reflexively hissed. She shook her hand as it stung. The blinking wasn’t helping anymore, and tears were starting to form in her eyes. She logically knew it wasn’t his fault; she just couldn’t help but put the blame on the only other person in the room. While she took another deep breath and began nursing her hand, Malfoy got up and walked around her desk. He wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest as she remained seated in her chair.

“You know the law,” he said calmly in her ear. “We’re long past Post-War times. We have to provide a minimum of two weeks to fix the conditions. If he hasn’t met the expectations, then they’re removed, and we do a full extensive investigation. We have to give him the opportunity to fix it though.”

“I’m going to lose it during that meeting today,” she said with a shaky breath. He squeezed her right shoulder, which caused her tears to escape and start rolling down her cheeks. If her blood was boiling now, how could she possibly get through the rest of the day?

“No, you’re not,” Malfoy replied. He let go of her shoulders and squatted down next to her, keeping his right hand on her desk and balancing himself on the balls of his feet; he turned her chair slightly toward himself. Hermione had to turn her head slightly downward to look at him, her vision now blurry. She took another breath as he pushed her hair out of her face with his left hand. He rubbed her cheek with his thumb, softly removing the tears. “Granger, you’re going to be fine.” He seemed so confident in that statement that it made her want to believe him, but she still had her doubts.

“I’m just so passionate about the subject, and the fact that it’s the Selwyns; that just makes it so much worse,” Hermione replied with a brittle voice. Tears were still forming, but not as rapidly and more out of anger than anything else. His hand moved down to the corner of her neck and shoulder, and his thumb began to rub small circles into her muscle. She sighed in content, feeling the tension release from her neck.

“I know. Believe me, I know. And your passion is one of my favorite things about you,” he stated, and Hermione thought for barely a second about how her passion for her job was on the list of reasons she was divorced. Malfoy kept speaking, so she couldn’t stay on that train for too long. “The best piece of advice I can give is: Remind yourself why you’re here; you’re here for those house-elves. Keep your mind on them, and it’ll stop him from getting to you.” She nodded and looked down at her hand, flexing and relaxing it, recognizing that the stinging had stopped. “Plus, you’ll have Potter in that room with you. As much as I hate to admit it sometimes, he really is great at his job. Just follow his lead, and you’ll be fine.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Hermione replied. She looked back to the report that was sitting on her desk, as he removed his hand from her shoulder. “I’ll read through the report and check the registry again. Two weeks to fix the conditions. I guess I can give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being, right?” He stood, stretched from being crouched for so long, and walked back to the other side of her desk.

“That’s all you can do. And Granger?” Malfoy paused until she looked back up at him. “I’m always on your side. No matter what.” Hermione knew he meant exactly what he said. She saw it all in the look he gave her. She knew from all that he had done for her and all of their shared moments. He’d be on her side, no matter what happened that afternoon, no matter what happened on Friday, or no matter where they would go from there. He’d be her friend first, and that meant so much more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

“I know. Thanks,” she replied with smile as he nodded and started out the door. She called out before he got too far. “I’m on your side too. No matter what.” They locked eyes, and she hoped she had conveyed enough in that look to show that she meant it just as strongly as he did. He finally smiled softly back at her, before nodding and shutting the door behind him.

————

So there she was, walking along side Harry down the corridor to the conference room in the Auror Department, taking the last few moments to prepare herself for this dreadful encounter. Hermione took a deep breath, as Harry opened the door for her, and walked in, trying to emulate Narcissa Malfoy in all her grace and elegance. She kept her head high and her shoulders back, giving the impression that she was taller than she actually was. She grabbed a seat across from Mr. Selwyn and lay her folder down on the table in front of her. Harry took the seat directly to her right. This was the first time she was actually getting a good look at the man, having avoided him as much as possible at his daughter’s wedding.

Reginald Selwyn was a dark-haired, fifty-something man, who held an arrogance that Hermione knew she would only be able to handle for so long. Summer must have gotten her looks from her mother’s side, as she certainly didn’t get them from her father’s. His broad nose seemed out of place when matched with his strong jawline. He had a long, jagged scar going down the right side of his face, which disappeared into his salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her. Hermione busied her hands and her eyes by taking her parchment out of the folder she had brought.

“Mr. Selwyn, thank you for agreeing to meet with us today,” Harry started, as he opened his ink bottle and took out his quill to take notes.

“Just to clarify, I had agreed to meet with you, Mr. Potter,” Selwyn snarled with a gruff voice as he locked eyes with her once again. “I wasn’t aware that anyone else would be joining us, let alone one of these.” Luckily Harry spoke up before Hermione had the chance.

“Yes, well, Ms. Granger is the Head of the Being Division, so I felt the need to have her here with us.” Selwyn lifted his chin a little higher, as if to literally look down at her from their sitting positions. She chose to remain silent for the time being. “Now, let’s get right down to it. Do you know why I’ve called you here today?”

“I am under the impression that my wife had let you into the Manor while I wasn’t home, something to do with the house-elves I own.” Hermione had a feeling he had phrased it in that way for her benefit. If his motive was to get her riled up, he was doing a wonderful job already. Harry put his left hand on her knee to calm her, but she found that it didn’t hold the same amount of comfort that Malfoy’s had.

“Right. You see Mr. Selwyn,” Harry continued, “unfortunately, ownership of house-elves was outlawed in the House-Elf Servitude Abolition Act of 1999. The law states all house-elves, current and future, are to be freed. Upon granting freedom, there’s an option in place for the house-elves to continue serving their families, if they wish, so long as the minimum wage requirement is met, house-elves are given fair living conditions, and they are listed on the registry.” There was a pause has Selwyn shifted his eyes from Harry to Hermione and back again.

“I’m well aware of the law, Mr. Potter,” Selwyn replied, sticking his nose up a little higher. “But I’m sure this has been one big misunderstanding.”

“There’s no misunderstanding, sir. It’s all written here.” Harry handed him a stack of parchment. “I’ve provided you a copy of the law, a copy of the report from the inspection yesterday, and the requirements needed in order for you keep the house-elves in your home.” Selwyn scoffed quietly, as he threw the papers haphazardly back onto the table.

“Surely, there is some agreement we can settle on to make this all come to pass. Everyone has a price, Mr. Potter. All you have to do is name yours.” He spoke with a calculating drawl in his voice.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Selwyn, I’m not for sale,” Harry replied simply, as if being bribed was a daily occurrence for him. Hermione supposed it was, given his position of power.

“If money is no issue, why try paying Mr. Potter off when you can just pay the house-elves?” Hermione spoke up finally, not wanting to remain silent any longer, but it seemed that she woke the beast.

“You,” he replied with poison in his voice as he rose slowly from his chair and pointed his forefinger at her, “are in no position to speak to me, let alone tell me what do.” His face was beginning to turn red, and there was a small artery in his forehead that began pulsating. Hermione felt Harry’s hand squeeze her knee a little tighter, but it didn’t help the rage that was building. She frowned at Selwyn’s finger and then met him in the eye.

“Unfortunately, it’s not me telling you what to do but the law telling you what to do.” She pushed her shoulders back to help release some of the tension. Selwyn exhaled heavily and stared at her, as if challenging her to continue.

“Mr. Selwyn,” Harry spoke up again, “the only agreement I’m willing to make with you is to either relinquish your control over the house-elves, or comply to all of the requirements listed.” Selwyn’s eyes narrowed as he picked up the discarded parchment from the table.

“This is outrageous,” Selwyn replied, as his eyes rapidly skimmed over the parchment.

“It is the law though,” Harry interjected calmly. “And they’re not unreasonable requirements. Free them, list them on the registry, provide decent living conditions, and pay them.”

“How much am I expected to pay them?” Selwyn replied, keeping his eyes turned toward the parchment, as if searching for his answer. Hermione turned her head to Harry, silently begging him to take the question for her. Thankfully, he took the hint.

“According to the law, there was a minimum wage set of one sickle per week per house-elf between 1999 and 2006. In 2006, the minimum wage was increased to two sickles per week. Unfortunately we are requiring back pay, regardless of whether or not you keep them. It’s a grand total of 6360 sickles or 219 galleons and 9 sickles. That’s 530 sickles or 18 galleons and 8 sickles per house-elf that’s owed directly to them. Some households open accounts with Gringotts to avoid overwhelming them with funds.”

“And if I don’t comply with your standards?” Selwyn asked, looking to Hermione as if wanting her to answer rather than Harry.

“You’ll have two weeks to comply with the law. If you choose not to comply, the house-elves will be removed from the premises and the Auror Department will perform a full extensive inspection of the property.” She spoke her practiced lines clearly, trying to keep herself calm against his stare.

“If you could read and sign your name at the bottom?” Harry asked as he flipped another parchment in Mr. Selwyn’s direction, who thankfully turned his gaze away from her. “This letter states that we had this meeting today, you were notified of all findings of the inspection performed in the form of the reports supplied to you, and you were notified of the two week window of complying with the requirements in regards to the house-elves and the repercussions of noncompliance.” Selwyn skimmed the parchment and then signed his name at the bottom as asked. Harry gave the form to Hermione, who did the same, and then signed it himself. “Thank you for your time today, Mr. Selwyn. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact my office.”

The men stood, and Selwyn walked around the table. They shook hands professionally. Hermione also stood and rose her hand in exchange as well. However, Selwyn looked to her hand and scoffed. She was about to lower her arm back down, when Selwyn took hold of her wrist and pulled her toward him.

“I’d watch your back if I were you, Mudblood,” he muttered in her ear. “There are still many who don’t want your kind around here.” Then he let go of her and continued on, as if it hadn’t happened. Harry had gone to the door without seeing the exchange. Selwyn walked out while sharing a nod with Harry. Harry looked back toward her as she took a deep breath.

“You okay, Hermione?” he asked, while walking toward her and putting a hand on her back.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, trying to convince herself more than Harry. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your kudos and comments! You’re the absolute best!!  
> Finally the chapter, you’ve been waiting for: their first official date.

Friday afternoon hadn’t come soon enough. Hermione stepped out of her bathroom, wearing black trousers and her old Gryffindor jumper. She found herself looking on at a familiar scene. Ginny was staring at her from the bay window with her mouth agape. Dresses littered the floor, some discarded in a pile off to the side.

“What. On earth. Are you wearing?” Ginny asked, placing her hand on her hip. “You _can’t_ be serious.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Hermione replied as she took a seat on the bench underneath the bay window, looking over the dresses. “He told me to wear something comfortable, so I’m wearing something comfortable.”

“Did he tell you where you’re going, even what plans he had made?” Ginny pulled a dress off the floor and threw it into the pile.

“No. We honestly didn’t have much time to talk about it. All I know is he has it all planned out, we’re meeting at his house, and to wear something comfortable. Those are my only clues. I’m taking his advice. Is that so bad?”

“Hermione.” Ginny chopped her hands in front of her for emphasis. “This is a date with Draco. Malfoy. _A_ _first date_ with Draco. Malfoy. You know what that means, don’t you?”

“I know what _you_ think it means,” Hermione replied, “but that doesn’t mean you’re right. I’m sticking with what I have on.”

“No, you’re not,” Ginny said with disappointment in her voice. “Hermione, you know he’s going to be taking you somewhere fancy, like five course meal fancy, and you’re willing to go dressed _like that_? Come _on_. You need to wow him, and looking at you now, you’re not wowing anybody. Use your head.”

A twenty minute argument and six dress changes later, Hermione stepped through the Floo into Malfoy’s living room. She ended up being forced into a maroon, mermaid dress covered in rhinestones, with a sweetheart neckline and heels to match.

“I’m in the kitchen.” She heard Malfoy call, took a deep breath, and tried to push all the negative thoughts of the last half hour out of her mind. As she walked into the kitchen, she knew she should have stayed firm against Ginny. There were two place settings at the kitchen table with a lit candlestick in the middle and a bottle of wine off to the side. Malfoy looked up from his place at the stove. Whatever he was about to say was lost, but it left his mouth agape. Hermione watched as he breathed the word “wow” and felt a blush start to creep up her neck, silently cursing Ginny for how wrong she was. His expression changed into one of perplexity. “I did mention to wear something comfortable, didn’t I?”

“Y-you did,” Hermione mumbled, gripping her wrist to avoid the nervous habit of biting her nails. She had made the conscious decision not to wear her bracelet, against the advice of Ginny. Now, she was missing something to distract her hands. “I had something else picked out, but Ginny talked me out of it. It’s impossible to say no to her. You know how it is.”

“I don’t, actually. But I hear Potter has a tough time with it,” he joked, and she gave the floor an embarrassed smile.

“I can go back home and change?” she asked tentatively and looked behind her shoulder toward the Floo to avoid his stare.

“No, no. In fact, I think time got away from me. I still need to get changed myself.” As Malfoy did a quick charm to keep the ladle stirring on the stovetop, Hermione took him in. It looked as if he had already changed from what he was wearing at work this morning, but she didn’t argue. “Come on, we can talk through the door.” He took hold of her hand and led her to his bedroom. She grabbed a seat on the chair in the hallway as he closed the door behind him.

“How was the rest of your week?” Hermione called to him, choosing an easy topic for her, and began to pick at the little stones of her dress.

“Long, but not too bad. Finnigan keeps complaining about how he needs a new assistant. I told him, I never needed an assistant and maybe he should try doing his own work for a change.”

“I bet he didn’t respond well to that comment,” she replied, letting her smile be heard.

“No, he didn’t, but our Head is going to be retiring in the next few years. I have no doubt Potter’s going to take over that position. If Finnigan wants to be Head Auror, he needs to take on a lot more responsibilities to show his worth.” Hermione hummed at the thought of the future. She had tried to avoid the subject as much as possible over the past year, but while sitting there, she didn’t mind it as much as she originally had.

“You could always go for Head Auror, you know.” From all the experience he had in the past ten years, she knew he’d be a great Head. It was just a matter of whether or not he wanted it.

“Right, because that’s what the department needs: a former Death Eater telling everyone what to do.” She smiled in spite of herself at his typical self-deprecating joke.

“I could always write a recommendation letter, and if Harry _does_ become Head of the DMLE, you know you’d have a pretty good shot at it, if you wanted the position.”

“Your muggle phrases never make any sense to me,” Malfoy replied as he finally opened the his bedroom door. “But I think I’ll pass. Finnigan can have it. I wouldn’t mind working under him. Plus, I think the promotion would take away all the parts of my job I actually enjoy.” Hermione looked up at him from her seat as he made his way toward her. The sight took her breath away; he was dressed in a traditional black tuxedo, fixing his cuffs as he walked. She tried to sort through her memory of the last time she had seen him like this with no luck. He bowed in front of her. “Ready?”

“I try to avoid Side-Alongs,” she said questioningly, as she came out of her stupor and grabbed hold of his outstretched hand, expecting them to be going somewhere worthy of their attire.

“We’re just going back to the kitchen; I made dinner.” He led her back to the kitchen, and she took a seat as he poured some wine for her.

“I didn’t know you could cook, and aren’t we a little overdressed for this?” Hermione asked, gesturing to the room. She took a sip from her glass and began to eat the dinner he had prepared.

“Are there even specified rules for this?” Malfoy teased. “I didn’t want have our first date to be publicized all over the Daily Prophet, so I thought we could have a quiet night in instead. You look beautiful by the way, in case I didn’t mention that earlier.” She whispered a quiet “thank you” as she felt her blush returning. She suddenly had the realization that he had changed into the tuxedo for her benefit, to avoid her feeling the embarrassment. She smiled down at the plate in front of her. _Ginny will be getting an earful for this._ “Anyway, how about your week? How’d your meeting with Selwyn go? Potter mentioned he didn’t use any slurs?”

“There was one. He mumbled it while he threatened me, but Harry must not have heard him. It wasn’t awful, honestly. At least I didn’t punch him or start crying in the middle of it, so I consider that a win.” She gave a breathy chuckle at his scowl that formed from her own self-deprecating joke. “I’m not going to worry about it; it’s nothing I haven’t been able to handle before. I have a feeling I’ll have twelve house-elves on my shoulders though. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them.”

“My manor is always available, if you need the space. I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind the extra company.”

“I might take you up on that offer, depending on how it goes,” Hermione replied, smiling at the gesture. “How is your mother, by the way? I saw your father in the Daily Prophet more than once this week.” She kept her voice breezy, knowing she was bringing up a touchy subject.

“She’s feeling much better than she was earlier in the week,” he sighed. “Mentioned she doesn’t want to go to his monthly visitations anymore, but I don’t know if she’ll actually follow through with that plan. She’s just pretty upset with him right now. You don’t need to be worrying about my family though; that’s my own burden to carry.” Malfoy had become making a habit of telling her not to worry about things that had clearly been bothering him. Still, she dropped the subject for the time being. “I did have a second part of our date planned, if you’re done with dinner?” Hermione nodded at her cleared plate, and he stood to take her hand again.

“Now,” he continued, “we are actually going to have to change though; formal attire isn’t appropriate for this part.” Before she could reply, he led her to the spare bedroom and pulled out a pair of pants and a jumper from his bureau. “You can change into these, rather than heading all the way home. They’ll be a little big, so feel free to transfigure them to fit.” He walked out of the room, barely giving her a moment to object and shutting the door behind him.

Hermione took a long, deep breath before changing into the clothes he had offered her. Like he mentioned, she did have to transfigure the black pants for them to fit comfortably. When it came to the green jumper, it was larger than her petite frame, but not enough to warrant transfiguring it. The collar hung only slightly lower than her own at home, and the sleeves and waist fell just above her knees. It felt strange to look down to see “Slytherin Quidditch” written across her chest, strange but not unwelcome. She folded the sleeves up for better use of her hands and transfigured her heels into comfortable shoes, before opening the door and finding Malfoy waiting for her in the hallway. He had changed back into the clothes he had had on when she had first arrived, and the memory of his kind gesture made her smile once again.

“Hopefully they weren’t too big. That bureau has all my old clothes; it was the best luck of finding something that would remotely fit you,” he said, taking her by the hand again and leading her back through the kitchen.

“They fit well enough I think. I’m not sure green has ever been my color though.” He led her to the front door before stopping and facing her.

“Are you kidding? I think you look more attractive now than you did in that dress.” She gave him a playful scoff as she rolled her eyes. Malfoy pushed the stray hairs out of her face as he grazed his fingertips across her check. “I’m serious.” Hermione took hold of his hand and pulled it away from her face and down to her side.

“Whatever you say, Malfoy,” Hermione replied with a coy smile. “Where are we going, anyway? You haven’t actually told me any of these plans of yours.”

“I have a surprise for you,” he said with his signature smirk returning to his face. He pulled her toward himself as he reached to open the closet door that was behind her. She instantly knew what he was up to and took a deep breath in.

“No, Malfoy. No way.” Hermione shook her head adamantly as he pulled his broomstick out of the cupboard. “Please, no? Isn’t...isn’t there some rule about not flying right after you eat? Don’t we have to wait an hour...or something?” She took another shaky breath to calm her racing heart.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” he said as he chuckled at her expense. “Come on, Granger. You say you’re not afraid of flying, just afraid of falling, right? But if we take away the fear of falling, then there’s nothing stopping you from flying with me.”

“And how exactly do we take away my fear of falling?” Hermione asked, as he guided her outside and down the porch steps, the sun just starting to set. He mounted the broomstick, looking her in the eye and keeping his hand stretched out toward her.

“Do you trust me?” It was quite a heavy question; she could feel the weight of it on her shoulders. She reminded herself that since the end of the war, there was nothing that would make her distrust him. On the contrary, he had done and said all the right things. Slowly but emphatically, she nodded. “I won’t let you fall.” And she believed him. She calculated her options before finally mounting the broomstick as well, sitting comfortably in front of him with his arm wrapped around her middle.

“I won’t let you fall,” he repeated, as her feet slowly lifted off the ground. She yelped at lack of contact, squeezed her eyes shut, and clenched tightly onto the broomstick, holding on for dear life. “In...and out... I have you, Granger. Don’t worry. In...and out...” Hermione focused on her breathing, feeling grateful for the coolness of the slight breeze against her face. After a few moments, she felt the momentum stop.

“Open your eyes, Granger.” She vehemently shook her head, not daring to listen to his advice. “Trust me.” There was that word again. She prepared a rebuttal, that if she didn’t trust him, she wouldn’t be flying with him in the first place. When she opened her eyes to tell him just that, she gasped at the sight, and her argument was lost. They were hovering, just above the clouds; it truly looked as if she could walk on them. The purple and orange hues of the sunset along with the approaching twilight was unlike anything she had ever seen. It took her a few minutes to take it all in, losing herself in the moment.

“It’s so serene,” Hermione whispered under her breath. Malfoy hummed in agreement and inched the broomstick forward slightly to keep them balanced. She subconsciously let her hand brush the clouds, and she suddenly thought of a wild idea. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never,” she heard him say as the arm around her waist tightened. Uncharacteristically, she tentatively released her grip on the broomstick and spread her arms wide, like a phoenix’s wings, crossing her ankles to keep herself steady. Malfoy seemed to comprehend what she was doing and slowly began to move them forward. She relaxed her shoulders and pushed her back against his chest to keep her arms from wavering.

Hermione felt weightless, and such a strange feeling it was. The heaviness of her burdens was not pulling her down. The chaotic noise that usually filled her mind was melting away. The chains that kept her tied down were breaking. The broken parts of her were falling away, piece by piece, and she could almost hear them crashing to the ground. She took a deep breath, her lungs filling with brisk, Autumn air. Each breath was no longer a struggle to overcome, a feeling to which she had grown so accustomed. She couldn’t feel the tension she carried anymore, and it certainly didn’t feel like she was drowning.

“It’s like we’re flying,” Hermione whispered, finishing her thoughts out loud, and instantly heard Malfoy’s soft chuckle in her ear, bringing her back to the present. She was grateful he couldn’t see the blush that was once again forming on her face.

“It’s like we’re flying,” he agreed as his thumb began to rub against her bottom rib. She sighed in content, leaned her head back against his shoulder, and brought her hands back down to the broomstick. “Do you want to head back down?” Hermione took in one more moment of peace before nodding, knowing she’d have to return to reality eventually. She gently closed her eyes, not wanting to see the descent but not quite fearing it either. Her feet finally touched back down, and she opened her eyes once more.

This time though, they hadn’t returned to his cottage, like she thought they would. Instead, she found herself on the hilltop just behind it, his house a couple hundred meters away. She gave him a confused glance.

“This,” he started, gesturing toward the landscape, as he sat down on the bladed grass and leaned against a nearby tree, “is my sanctuary. A place to just get away from it all for a little while. A place to ease my mind. A place of refuge. Do you have anywhere like that?” Just as she opened her mouth, he interrupted. “Somewhere that isn’t your office.” She gave him a knowing look and sat down beside him, the sun just peeking out above the rolling hills on the other side of the meadow.

“It used to be the library,” Hermione replied thoughtfully. “Getting lost in a book was one of my favorite pastimes, the perfect distraction. I guess it’s gotten away from me over the years; life gets in the way sometimes. This place seems like a pretty good one though.”

“Oh no, you can’t be stealing other people’s sanctuaries, Granger. You have to find your own,” he said teasingly. “But you know I have somewhat of a library back at the house; it’s nothing like Hogwarts, of course, and nowhere near the size that the Manor’s had once been. Still, it’s there if you need it in the meantime.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” She thought of his cottage compared to the emptiness of her apartment. She could suddenly picture them, reading together on his couch in the firelight. The idea caused her to sigh and rest her head on his shoulder. Malfoy wrapped his arm around her, and she fit comfortably against his side, as if she belonged there. The last of the sunrays disappeared beneath the hills.

“So I let you in on one of my secrets. Care to share one of your own?” Hermione looked up at the full moon and took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts.

“Remember last month, when I asked you about waking up and wishing you were somewhere else?” She waited until he hummed in agreement. “I haven’t been feeling like that lately. And I’ve been sleeping much better than I used to.” She couldn’t tell him the reason was from sleeping with his jacket wrapped around her every night, and she didn’t dare tell him that she had used a protection charm on it to preserve the scent of his cologne; she could easily leave that part out.

“Well that’s good to hear,” he replied, pulling her closer to himself. “But that’s not much of a secret.”

“I wasn’t finished,” she teased, before continuing somberly. “I had fallen into such a deep, dark place last year. My life had fallen to pieces, and I had fallen apart. I’ve had plans fall through and fall short. I even fell in the bathtub this past week. But lately...lately, it’s felt more like things are falling into place, and I think...” Hermione paused to take a breath, as the stars finally made their appearance. She could almost hear Ginny in her ear. _If you don’t ask, you’ll never know._ “I think I’m falling for you. I just...I’m so terrified of falling because of all that has happened in the past.”

“I can always be there to catch you when you fall, if you want me to be.” Hermione became vaguely aware of the soft graze of his fingertips, tickling her opposite arm.

“The dark hole isn’t nearly as deep as it used to be, but I’m still in the middle of putting myself back together. I’m still a mess, and I still can’t make it through an entire week without having to cry at least once. You’ve become one of my best friends. You’ve been the only thing keeping me together lately. You deserve so much more than what I have to offer, and I don’t think I deserve...” Hermione paused, not quite sure how to phrase what it was she was trying to convey.

Malfoy shrugged his shoulder slightly, causing her to lift her head up. He removed his arm from around her back to gently cup her cheek and took her hand in his other.

“Hermione.” Her given name sounded so foreign in his voice. The intensity in his eyes made her feel a little uncomfortable, but she refused to look away. “You deserve everything you could possibly want in this world. You deserve to feel loved and be loved. You deserve someone who will stand with you, walk beside you, and fight for you. You deserve to be held as if nothing could ever go wrong in your life. You deserve dances and roses and joy. You deserve to laugh every single day. You deserve all of it. And I will spend every day of the rest of my life, trying to make you believe that.”

Hermione’s eyes began to sting, a feeling with which she was getting all too familiar. Her mind took her back to Malfoy Manor, less than a month ago. She wondered if this was what Narcissa had gone through. She wondered if Lucius had given Narcissa a similar speech when they had made the decision to get divorced. She wondered if Narcissa had cried when she saw how much passion a Malfoy man can carry. She wondered if Narcissa was in her shoes, having this same conversation with Lucius, how easy the decision would be for her. Hermione took a deep breath, feeling a little more confident.

“I...I want to be with you, if you’ll have me.” She looked down at the pair of still joining hands, not wanting to see his expression. “I just...I don’t want to get hurt again; I don’t think my heart could take it. Could you...could you promise not to do that to me? Could you promise...” She paused again, her vision going blurry.

“Granger.” Malfoy waited until she looked up at him, locking eyes once again. “I’m not him; you know I’m not, and I will do everything in my power to prove that. I’ll make an Unbreakable Vow, if you need me to.” He lifted their hands that were resting on her lap; he closed his eyes and kissed her knuckles, as if it were part of his promise. She smiled at his sincerity.

“You don’t have to do that. Just a promise is enough.” Keeping his other hand on her cheek, Malfoy bent forward and leaned his forehead against hers.

“I promise. We’re giving this shot then? And did I use that phrase correctly that time?” Hermione gave a breathy chuckle in spite of herself. It sounded so strange to hear uncertainty in his voice, when he usually held such strength in it. Then her thoughts turned back to the subject at hand.

“Yes, on both accounts.”

“I’m going to kiss you now, alright?” Hermione nodded slowly and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the moment she had been waiting for. He then gently brushed his lips against hers. The kiss was soft and gentlemanly, reminding her of how he kissed her knuckles just a few moments ago. It took her breath away and made her toes curl. As quickly as it started, it ended. She slowly released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding and opened her eyes to see his staring back at her. All of the uncertainty she had been feeling over the past few weeks melted away, and she was overcome by such joy.

Hermione then rested her forearms on his shoulders and bravely kissed him again. She was consciously aware of Malfoy placing his hands on her hips. Slowly overtime, the innocent pecks changed into open-mouthed kisses, her bottom lip entering his mouth with each one. It felt so comfortable, so familiar, so...easy. It was like being back on his broomstick, flying through the air. Suddenly, Malfoy pulled away, and she was back on the ground.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing Hermione noticed was their change in position. His position hadn’t changed too much, still resting with his back against the tree. She had somehow, along the way, ended up sitting in his lap, with her knees on the ground on either side of him. His fingertips were tentatively trailing up and down the skin of her back, sending goosebumps up her spine. Malfoy put a slight amount of pressure against her shoulder blades to pull her forward. She leaned in, ready to continue on their journey.

“I think we should stop,” he whispered confidently. She didn’t retreat though; instead, she rested her forehead back against his.

“Do you _want_ to stop?” Hermione whispered back, afraid of the answer.

“No, that’s not it at all,” he replied, and she silently released a breath of relief. “I just think that if we don’t stop now...our reasoning skills will decline rapidly...” Malfoy’s voice trailed off, but she knew exactly what he meant. Keeping her arms on his shoulders, she leaned backward with a soft “oh.” He kept his hands firmly on her back to prevent her from getting up. “I want us to go slow, that’s all. Slow and steady, something something. I’m still learning all of these muggle idioms you use. It’s hard to remember them all.”

Hermione giggled softly, as he brushed a lock of hair out of her face. He brought his thumb to the center of her bottom lip, staring at her mouth and looking lost in thought. She knew then. He wasn’t denying her; he was simply asking her to wait. If she had been thinking logically and not so lost in the moment, she would’ve asked that of him as well.

“Slow and steady, something something,” she repeated, keeping the smile on her face. “I like that idea. It is getting a little late; I think I should be heading home.” After awkwardly getting up and a long walk back to his cottage (as Hermione refused to fly for the remainder of the night), they finally returned to the Floo for their goodbyes.

“I think I’m creating a habit of wearing your clothes,” she said, looking down at the outfit she was still wearing. “And what about my dress in the other room?”

“It’s not like you won’t be back,” Malfoy replied factually, as he rubbed the upper part of her arm. “You should definitely keep these though. They are much more comfortable to sleep in than my dress coat.” Hermione’s eyes widened and her mouth gaped open in silent shock. He chuckled at her expression. “Don’t worry about it, Granger. Your secret is safe with me. I’ll see you on Monday; we’ll do lunch?” He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth, before she followed after him and gave him a traditional kiss goodnight.

“I’ll see you on Monday.” Hermione repeated with an emphatic nod. After one more smile toward him, she made her way through the Floo and back to her apartment. She took a deep breath as she shut the door behind her. For the first time in over a year (maybe even longer than that), the bare apartment didn’t feel so empty.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all so good to me, that I can’t put into words how appreciative I am. You make me want to keep writing and it’s such a great feeling!
> 
> Sending all my love to you!!

“What. On earth. Are you wearing?” Ginny shut the door of the apartment, as Hermione sighed and took down two mugs from the kitchen cabinet.

“Are you going to be saying that every time you look at me? It’s getting quite old.”

“You’re wearing a Slytherin jumper,” Ginny replied factually. “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you in green, let alone Slytherin green. How did you end up wearing that? What happened last night?”

“To answer your first question,” Hermione started, while heating up pot of water for their morning tea, “it’s your fault. You’re the one who told me to wear that ridiculous dress. By the way, you were completely wrong about the whole thing, and I was right. I knew I was right, and I let you talk me into changing anyway.”

“I was wrong? How was I wrong?” asked Ginny, while getting the milk out of the fridge. “He didn’t take you out to dinner? What is wrong with him? That should be the one thing you do on a first date.”

“Excuse me!” Hermione loudly interrupted Ginny’s train of thought. “Stop making fun of my boyfriend, if you wouldn’t mind.” She gave Ginny a sly smile while Ginny stared on with her mouth agape.

“Boyfriend? Honestly?” Hermione gave her a knowing look before pouring the boiling water into the mugs. “Hey, don’t give me that look. What happened? And don’t you dare leave anything out this time. I want to hear every detail.”

“Well, for starters, I looked like an absolute fool, standing in his kitchen wearing that dress.” Hermione finished preparing her tea and took a familiar seat on the built-in bench in the nonexistent living room. “Maybe I will get some new furniture, like you mentioned before. It would be nice to have a comfortable place to sit.”

“Don’t get distracted. How did you look like a fool?” Ginny sat down next to her and leaned up against the bay of the window.

“We didn’t go out to eat. He made me dinner instead, said something about how he didn’t want our first date to be publicized. He’s not wrong; it would’ve been all over the Daily Prophet.” Hermione took a sip of her tea, thinking about what embellished information Rita Skeeter would’ve added if they had gone out instead. Ginny gave her a look that told her to keep going with her story. “He ended up changing into a tuxedo. It’s quite comical, thinking back on it. The two of us all dressed up, eating dinner in his kitchen.”

“That sounds extremely romantic to me. Harry and I only ever get dressed up, when we’re going to someone’s wedding or anniversary dinner. Count yourself lucky.” The women shared a smile, before Hermione continued on.

“Then he gave me this to change into, and he took me flying.” She chuckled at Ginny’s surprised expression, one that anyone who knew her well enough would have given. “It wasn’t that long of a ride, so it was tolerable. To be honest, it actually felt relaxing. Then we landed on the hillside and watched the sunset. We...talked about our feelings, and he kissed me. Then we back to his house, and I went home.”

“And you agreed you’re going to start dating?” Ginny asked. Hermione sighed in content and nodded, thinking back on the perfect evening, adding it to ever growing list of reasons why her life was finally starting to make sense again. “So, did you...erm... _sign the contract_?”

“What kind of question is that?” Hermione laughed out loud and shook her head. “We are grown women; you don’t need to phrase it like that. We’ve decided to go slow, and if we had, I doubt I’d be sitting here talking to you about it.”

“When you do, you’ll tell me, right?” Ginny added, as Hermione shook her head incredulously with a roll of her eyes. “I’ve told you at least a hundred times; I’m living vicariously through you. You can’t let me down.”

————

“Happy Monday.” Hermione looked up from her stack of mail and smiled as the man in her doorway walked around her desk. Malfoy leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the lips, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Ready for lunch?” She looked down at her desk, not wanting him to see the blush that was forming on her face.

“Just give me a few more minutes. I’m just finishing up a report. It never seems like I have enough time to accomplish anything.” He grabbed a seat across from her desk to wait while she continued on writing.

“I’ve been telling you for weeks the solution to that problem. You need a competent assistant. You need to be able to offload some of your work.”

“I doubt I’m ever going to be able to offload my work; I have too hard of a grip on it all. Besides, Timothy is competent,” defended Hermione, and Malfoy raised his brow at her. “What? I think he’s been just fine. So his attendance isn’t the best, but it’s better than not having an assistant at all, right? And I really don’t want to go through the whole process again. It was awful enough just to find Timothy.”

“I’d be willing to take on the job in his stead, if you wanted to let him go. I could probably even continue being an Auror and be your assistant at the same time. A lot of our work overlaps, and it would give me an even better excuse to see your beautiful face every day.” She rolled her eyes, getting more and more used to the compliment.

“You might need to get that approved by Harry, before you go applying for other positions. For now, I’m fine. I’ll bite the bullet, if he becomes a bigger issue.” Hermione corked her ink pot and stood, silently deciding she could continue her report after a well deserved break.

“There’s another one of those muggle phrases. Do you just make them up as you go, or is there a list?” She chuckled at his quibble as she followed him out of the office, shutting the door behind her.

“I’ll get you a book next time I’m in Muggle London. You won’t be able to trust anything you read here. I’m sure you remember our study sessions of Muggle Studies in our eighth year, how many times I had to correct what you were being taught.” Malfoy hummed in agreement and put his hand on the small of her back as they made their way down the hallway toward the lift. She gave him a side glance; he didn’t seem to be too troubled by being seen in public, so she tried to not let herself be bothered by it either. “How has your day going? Anything exciting?”

“More interesting than exciting, I’d say,” he replied, as they stepped into the empty lift to bring them to the cafeteria. His eyes shifted, as if to double check that they were actually alone. Hermione felt his hand leave her back, being placed instead on her opposite hip. He turned her slightly so they were facing each other. “Selwyn came by my office this morning.” Out of all the things she had excepted him to say, that was certainly not one of them.

“Oh yeah? What did he want?” she asked simply, as the lift opened up on the next floor. Six or so people came on board. Hermione and Malfoy moved closer to the corner to make room, both facing toward the door. Malfoy kept his hand on her hip, holding her against himself. Based on the expressions of everyone else’s faces, they were going unnoticed. She turned her head to look behind her shoulder at him. “I can’t imagine you had a very pleasant conversation with him.”

“I didn’t,” he replied in her ear. “He wanted to know if I could have his charges dropped. He tried arguing that he had lost a lot of money when I closed the apothecary business and that I owed him for the trouble.”

“Isn’t that collusion?” Hermione mumbled. The lift reached the next floor and the few people stepped out, but she didn’t move from her position.

“That’s what I told him.” She felt his fingertips begin forming slow, forceful circles in the muscle of her hip. Whether that was for her benefit or his, she wasn’t sure.

“You told Harry already, right?” She heard him hum in agreement. “He tried bribing Harry last week. Something’s not quite right with him...” Her voice trailed off in thought as the lift opened once again. The remaining people left, and Arthur Weasley entered.

“Hermione, a pleasure as always. Mr. Malfoy.” Arthur nodded to both of them. Hermione noticed his eyes glance down at her hip as he turned to face the front of the lift, but he didn’t say anything regarding Malfoy’s now motionless hand.

“Mr. Weasley, how’s the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office treating you?” Malfoy kept his respectable drawl that he usually held while chatting with Heads of departments. To Hermione though, it sounded ever so slightly different.

“Oh, just fine. One day closer to retirement. I’m getting too old to keep up with my colleagues. How are you two treating each other?” Hermione gasped at the question, causing Arthur to chuckle at her expense. “Ginny is a known gossip. I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire Ministry knew by the end of the day, especially if you walk around like that.” Arthur nodded to their positioning, his eyes glancing once again toward her hip. Thankfully, the lift opened once more and Arthur turned to leave. “Not that anyone is against the idea, of course. And if they are, they’ll have plenty of people on your side to answer to. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m overdue for lunch.” The lift door closed, leaving Hermione and Malfoy alone once again.

“I think...” Malfoy started slowly. “I think we just got the Weasleys’ blessing?” Hermione chuckled softly at the perplexity of his voice.

“And I got Harry’s this morning, inadvertently. I’m not going to worry about any of that though. Remember? Slow and steady, something something?” Malfoy hummed in agreement, his fingertips once again creating small circles in her hip. “Anyway, I think we missed the floor to the cafeteria.”

————

Luckily for Hermione, the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly didn’t have any main headlines that included her relationship. There had been a short side column on the front page of the Prophet a few days after the gossip circulated around the Ministry, but she didn’t hear any whispers behind her back. Harry and Mr. Vassar had also done a wonderful job of keeping Rita Skeeter out of their respective departments. Within a week, they were already old news.

Before she knew it, it was already the morning of the follow-up inspection of Selwyn Manor. Hermione had preemptively created copies of the transferral forms and registry forms for the house-elves, as they would’ve needed one or other. As she turned the corner , she saw a familiar face. It had become a daily occurrence of Malfoy meeting her outside her office to give her a morning coffee, and today was no exception. After a quick good morning kiss and a thank you for the coffee, Hermione led him into her office.

“I found out this morning that Selwyn is relinquishing the house-elves. Apparently, they’re not worth the effort in keeping them.” Malfoy sat down in his regular, relaxed position in the visitor across from her desk, as she placed her coffee cup day and threw her bag into the corner of the room.

“That’s the best case scenario, I suppose. It’s much better than having to fight him for them.”

“No kidding. Finnigan is getting a group of us together for the raid today.”

“Seamus? I thought Harry was running it?” Hermione asked, as she pulled out the folder with the correct forms.

“Potter will be going over paperwork and rights with Selwyn. He tried passing the responsibility of the to me, but Finnigan jumped at the chance. I told you he wants to be Head Auror when Potter moves up.”

“You did,” she replied with a sigh. “Could you double check that the house-elves are all accounted for and that they stay in their living quarters? I’ll be by with Timothy once I complete the transferral forms.”

“Will do. And you’ll be bringing them to my Manor?”

“As long as your mother is fine with them staying there. I haven’t had time to talk with her about it. About anything, in fact.” Hermione pulled out her quills and ink pot and sat down to start on her forms.

“And you don’t have to. She’s already anticipating their arrival.”

“If you say so. Anyway, I should get started on the paperwork. Stay safe today?” She saw Harry standing in her entryway as he listened in on their conversation.

“Always,” he replied as he stood and walked around her desk. “Speaking of which, I’ll probably be working late tonight; raids always take longer than we plan. You can still head to my cottage when you’re done for the day, if you’d like. I have no qualms about you being there without me.”

“Your study is much more homey than my apartment, if you don’t mind? I’ll head home around my regular time though, and see you tomorrow?” Malfoy gave Harry a quick side glance before giving her a brief kiss on the forehead. She blushed at a sign of affection, still not quite to used to showing them in front of her friends.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replied and walked out of her office with a nod toward Harry as he passed.

“Hi Harry, busy morning, huh?” Hermione asked, finally acknowledging her friend.

“Yeah, I came by to tell you about Selwyn, but it seems word gets around quick.” Harry grabbed a seat that had just been occupied by Malfoy, resting his right foot on his left knee. “What was that about with Malfoy, by the way? Staying at his house?”

“I wouldn’t call it staying...” Her voice trailed off slightly as she thought of a good way to phrase the situation. “For the past week or so, I’ve been making a habit of going over there for dinner after work. We read in his study for a while, and then I head home for bed. It’s nothing really. Just a little less lonely than my apartment, that’s all.”

“And you just eat dinner and read? That’s it?”

“I never pictured you as a gossip, Harry,” she replied with a coy smile. “We... simply enjoy each other’s company. Like I told you last week, we’re taking things slow. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“No, I suppose someone else has taken over that role for me,” Harry said thoughtfully before returning to the subject at hand. “Anyway, I came by to tell you about Selwyn’s house-elves, but it seems as though Malfoy already beat me to it?”

“He did. I really should get back to these forms. I want them out of there by the end of the day.”

“Good idea. I need to get going too, to confirm the Floo is connected and that the Selwyns aren’t home while the team investigates the property. I’ll be around though; let me know if you need anything.” Hermione nodded as he left her office. She took a deep breath before downing the rest of her coffee, preparing herself for the long day ahead.

————

Hermione was awoken by a slight brush of her cheek. Trailing her blurry eyes around the room, she recognized her current place of refuge. She yawned, looking to the man who was currently squatting in front of her.

“Hey,” Malfoy whispered, his thumb tracing along her jaw.

“Hey,” she rasped as she stretched with a yawn. “What time is it?”

“Late,” he replied simply. She swung her legs off the couch as he sat on the coffee table in front of her.

“How was your day?” She yawned again and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Long, and by the look of it, so was yours.” She took a deep breath, feeling as haggard as he looked.

“It _was_ long. I didn’t even have time to go to your Manor. I had to send Timothy instead to make sure the house-elves were settling in just fine. I’ll have to schedule a follow up appointment with her within the next few weeks; my schedule is pretty hectic until at least the end of next week. I’m sure they’ll be fine without a check; I trust your mother a lot more than I trust Selwyn with them, but that’s not saying much. Did you find anything during the inspection?”

“You know, I almost didn’t wake you,” he replied, dodging the question. “You looked so peaceful. I knew the second I woke you, your mind wouldn’t stop; it never does. Come on, let’s head to bed.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” she grumbled as she grabbed onto his outstretched hand and he helped her up.

“I knew you’d catch that. We found a few dark artefacts that are going to be looked over by the cursebreakers, but nothing too substantial. We’ll talk about it all in the morning, alright?” He led her down the short hallway and into his room. After a promise that he would be right back (probably to reinforce the protection charms and use the loo), he left. Hermione stood uncomfortably in the doorway, before taking a deep breath and a hesitant step forward. She hadn’t been in his room before, but it was staged the same way as the guest bedroom. Feeling grateful that she had made the decision to change into her sleep clothes before settling in the study, she took a seat on his bed.

It was much more comfortable than the one she had at home. Hermione moved to the middle of the bed, not wanting to impede on his space by choosing a side. She leaned against the headboard with a sigh, closing her eyes as the weariness returned. After a moment of peace, she felt the bed dip beside her.

Malfoy had pulled the covers away mattress and sat down on her right. He had changed into his sleep clothes, a simple short sleeve shirt and pants. It was not nearly as socially uncomfortable as she thought it would be. He always had a way of putting her at ease without even trying. As she scooted over to give him more room, something caught her eye.

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, suddenly fully awake. He furrowed his brow, and she clarified. “On your arm.” Malfoy paused and looked down to where she had her eyes.

“The Dark Mark? So much for the rumors of you being bright,” he teased. It wasn’t the Dark Mark she was looking at, and she knew he knew that. Though she had yet to truly see it, she had gotten used to the idea of him having it. They had had many talks in the past, about the guilt he still carried and how she had long since forgiven him. Still, it wasn’t the Mark that raised her concern.

“Draco...” she whispered as she held out her hand to him. She watched his chest rise and fall a few times as he contemplated his options. He finally placed his wavering arm in her hands with the front of his forearm facing her. She proceeded to graze her thumbs meticulously along it, lost in thought.

There were many little scars that ran across his arm. They were in various directions and lengths, with no known rhyme or reason. The Dark Mark had stayed intact in spite of the obvious brutal assault to it. Hermione traced her nail along the veins of his wrist and subconsciously pressed her thumb against his pulse, as if to remind herself that he was still there with her. She drew a shaky breath as her eyes began to prickle with tears.

“Hey now,” he whispered, pulling her out of memories that weren’t hers. He pulled his stained arm away but held her head in both of his hands. She blinked a few tears away as she tried to focus her sight on him. “It was a long time ago.” Malfoy was clearly trying to explain it away, but his words didn’t help her. He pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t cry.”

“I guess I was a little overdue,” she said with a hollow laugh. He rested his chin on top of her head, and she whispered the one question that was weighing on her mind. “Why?”

“It wouldn’t stop burning,” he said somberly as they tightened their holds on each other. “And I had done everything I could think of to get rid of it. N-Nothing had worked, so I...grabbed a knife and tried to...cut it out the muggle way. That didn’t work either obviously. My mother ended up finding me.” Hermione gripped onto the back of his shirt. “It’s not that I wanted to die, I just...”

“Wanted the pain to stop.” Hermione finished the sentence for him as she looked up. He nodded, confirming what he was trying to convey.

“So when we...” she started as she sat up slightly to face him better, “talked about waking disappointed...and feeling dementors looming over you, you really know what that’s like...And when I have those moments of not being able to breathe, you’ve been through it...And even though I’m still fighting through the darkness, I’m not alone in it. You’ve been there; you already know the way...” Hermione sighed as she looked down and gently trailed her fingertips against his forearm. “Is it still painful?”

“Do you want the honest answer or the one I want to give you?” She gave Malfoy a knowing look to tell him not to lie. “Once in a while. I’ll wake up from a nightmare, and the phantom pain will be there. Luckily, they’ve become much less frequent than they used to be. Don’t worry about it, okay?” She nodded, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from worrying, as much as he told her not to. “Can we get into bed now?”

Hermione smiled shyly before sharing a gentle kiss, and she pulled herself away from him to climb into the bed. She rested her back against his chest as he wrapped his right arm around her waist. Malfoy snaked his left arm underneath her pillow. She pulled his hand down to rest on her shoulder, hugging his arm to her chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered loud enough for him to hear her, snuggling deeper into the mattress.

“For what?” He kissed her shoulder as her eyes grew heavy.

“For sharing a piece of yourself with me...You’ve been so good at helping me through it all...I just wish I could’ve helped you through it too...” She sighed as his fingertips methodically roamed up and down her side.

“You did, Granger. You just didn’t know it...” But she didn’t hear him, for she had already succumbed to the exhaustion of the day.


	14. Slow and Steady, Something Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bonus chapter for you all! This chapter is a little smutty/soft-core and not too much plot. So if it’s not your thing, feel free to skip it.
> 
> Thanks again for all your love and I’m sending my love back to you!!

It was a familiar scene. Hermione was laying on the couch in Malfoy’s study, in his cottage just outside of London, a place she had lately been labeling as her sanctuary, a place of refuge from the constant chaotic noise that usually filled her mind. Her head rested comfortably in his lap, her feet dangling over the edge of the armrest. She laid her book down on her chest; she hadn’t been paying attention to the words anyway. She had been looking up at him for quite some time. He was focused on what he was reading, currently studying the muggle idioms history book she had given him last week. His lips silently moved as his eyes skimmed over each sentence. It was truly mesmerizing.

Hermione turned to get up. Instinctively, Malfoy lifted his arms to give her more space to move, keeping his eyes fixated on the page. She put her own book down on the coffee table and took his book from his hands to place it down as well. She rested her knees on the couch, one on either side of his waist, settling her forearms on his shoulders. They locked eyes for the first time in almost an hour.

“Can I help you?” Malfoy asked teasingly, placing his hands on her hips. Hermione slowly nodded. She closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss him. Similar to previous times, they started out sharing little pecks and moved on to simple open-mouthed kisses, her bottom lip entering his mouth with each one. Wanting to go further than they had before, she hesitantly licked his top lip, which she did three more times before he seemed to get the hint. He delicately bit her bottom lip, causing her to moan softly in content. The sound must have awoken him, as he pulled himself away from her. She tried to lean forward to continue, but his hands held firm against her hips.

“Do you...” Hermione tried with a raspy voice. She quietly cleared her throat and started again. “Do you remember our first date? We had been sitting like this, but we had agreed to stop?” She paused to wait for him to respond. He didn’t speak, barely even moved, but she felt his fingertips curl into the small of her back. She took that as a sign of confirmation. “I don’t want to stop this time.”

Hermione watched on as Malfoy looked down at themselves, as if contemplating his options. His eyes slowly trailed up her body. They stopped briefly on her breasts. It took everything she had to not cover the “Slytherin Quidditch” lettering that lay across her chest; she knew if she covered herself now, there would be no way she could convince him that this was what she wanted. His eyes continued on their journey, stopping again on her lips, which she licked subconsciously, before meeting her eyes once more.

“Are you sure?” Malfoy whispered, and Hermione nodded. She felt an increase of pressure of his fingertips against her back. Sensing he needed verbal reassurance, she responded with a quiet “I’m sure.” He nodded in return and stood abruptly, taking her with him and crossing his wrists underneath her bottom to carry her; she gasped in surprise, wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself.

Before she had a chance to ask, she was placed on his bed, in a room she had only been in a handful of times before. Malfoy had positioned her perfectly, her head already resting on one of his pillows. He lay down on his left side next to her. He pushed a lock of curls out of her face and gently rested the backs of his fingers against her cheek.

“Are you sure?” he repeated. Hermione had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time he asked. She took a silent, deep breath before confirming once again that she was sure. Their kisses began again, just as they had on the couch and so many times before: simple and slow. Malfoy’s hand left her cheek, trailed down her arm, and rested on her hip, a place where it always belonged. His lips left hers but continued their journey, his teeth slightly pinching her skin on his way down her neck. His green jumper she was wearing was much bigger than her petite frame, so the low collar gave him easy access to her shoulder.

Malfoy moved his right leg to in between hers but kept his hips slightly elevated, steadying himself on his left arm. His right fingertips brushed slowly up the skin of her side, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Hermione’s heart began racing, pounding as his hand moved farther up her ribs. She tried taking a deep breath to calm down, but that didn’t seem to help. Consciously, she wanted him to continue, but her body was on fire and not the good kind. She wrapped her left arm around his neck to try to combat the trembling.

“Draco?” He moaned in response, in a way that told Hermione he wasn’t actually listening; he was obviously too focused on her collarbone. “Draco?” He lifted his head back up to look at her and moved his hand back down to her waist. “Could you...talk to me?” He gave her a look of perplexity, clearly wanting an explanation. “It’s just...I’m a little nervous; it’s been a long time. And I think talking might help?”

“Sure, I can do that,” Malfoy replied understandingly with soft smile, and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. “What would you like to talk about?” A kiss to her jaw. “1001 Potion Ingredients and Properties?” A kiss to her cheek. “The correct wrist movement for the Incendio Charm?” A kiss to her temple.

“N-No, nothing like that.” Keeping her arm around his shoulders, she gripped onto the lower part of his shirt with her other hand to pull him close as the pounding of her heart lessened. “I don’t want a distraction; I want to be...kept in the moment, not let my mind wander...Does that make sense?” There was slight pause and then Malfoy finally responded.

“Absolutely.” Hermione sighed in relief; he always knew exactly what she meant without needing further explanation. He lifted his right hand off of her waist to push her hair out of her face, before resting his hand on the base of her head. “Have I told you how beautiful you are yet today?” She smiled at his sincerity and nodded. “Good, just making sure. Can’t let a day go by without reminding you.”

Starting at her forehead, he trailed gentle kisses around the crown of her head, stopping at her temple but keeping his lips pressed against her as he spoke. “You have the most amazing mind, brilliant and sharp. The smartest witch I’ve ever met in my life, I swear.” He continued down, dropping one kiss to the corner of her eye and another to her cheekbone, as his right hand moved to her neck to rub her jaw with his thumb. They locked eyes, his holding such intensity in them.

“And your eyes, so full of life. Have seen so much pain and have cried so many tears. How I wish I could have prevented them all...” Malfoy’s voice trailed off as he looked lost in thought. Hermione lifted her head and kissed him gently; she gave him a soft smile to remind him how few tears she had cried since they got together. “Your mouth, I want to see smile every day. Which goes along with your voice.” He snaked down slightly to kiss her throat. He repositioned himself and shrugged his left shoulder to obviously get some feeling back in it; he put his other hand on the bed on her other side to better balance himself above her. “I could listen to you laugh for hours and never grow tired of it. If the Patronus Charm was never created, I swear your laugh would be the only thing to combat dementors.”

Hermione sighed in content, fluttered her eyes closed, and let her left arm that had been wrapped around him fall gracefully back down onto the bed. Her body easily relaxed as Malfoy trailed kisses down her neck and back to her collarbone. He rubbed his nose softly against the crook of her neck, blowing hot air with each exhale, causing her to giggle breathily at the tickles.

“Your shoulders, carrying so many burdens. If only you’d let me bear some of the weight, it wouldn’t be so heavy.” Hermione opened her eyes and stared up at the white ceiling. She wanted to tell him that he had already done so much for her, that he had already offloaded so much of the weight. She was just about to respond when he pushed himself up, leaning his weight on his left wrist and left knee that stayed beside her; her words were forgotten.

Hermione watched as he pulled up the bottom of his long sleeve Quidditch jumper that she had considered her own and placed his right hand softly on her abdomen. He stopped as they locked eyes once again, as if he were waiting for her. Hermione’s heart started pounding again, but she pushed through it as she sat up, signaling him to help her pull it completely off. She let the jumper fall to the floor and lay back down with her hands wrapped together in front of her chest, silently grateful that she had put on her good bra that morning.

Malfoy’s eyes trailed from her waist up to her eyes as he exhaled. He gently pulled her hands apart to get a better look at her and leaned back down to continue his journey from her shoulders. He went to her left one this time, as if acknowledging that her right side had been getting all of his attention. Hermione placed her left arm back down on the bed and ran the fingers of her right through his hair. She took a deep breath to distract herself from the chills that ran up her spine.

“Your arms.” Malfoy spoke at the perfect time, as if he sensed the nerves that were building in her from being bare. He kept kissing down her left arm, before stopping at her well-known scar. She closed her eyes instinctively in shame as she felt his eyes upon her face. He thumbed the word that had been embedded in her arm so many years ago, placing gentle kisses on each letter that she could picture behind her eyelids. She gripped onto his hair as she felt prickles at the corners of her eyes. “This says everything there is to say about you.”

Hermione gasped in shock at his words, opened her eyes, and lifted her head to look at him. Before she could begin to doubt everything she knew about the man who was laying on top of her, she was brought back to her ex-husband’s wedding. It felt so long ago, but she could still hear the words he whispered in her ear as they danced. Malfoy began speaking again, and she was instantly brought back to the present.

“It shows everything. Your tenacity. Your perseverance. Your determination. Your strength. Your bravery. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise, including yourself.” He pulled her right hand down from his hair and kissed her: once on the wrist and once on her palm. “And if my memory serves, you have a powerful right hook for anyone who tries.” They shared a smile, and Hermione dropped her head back down onto the pillow.

Malfoy snaked further downward, his elbows resting on either side of her and his hips laying between her knees. His lips continued their journey, placing light kisses along the left seam of her black bra. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling again, the horrible memories of the scar forgotten.

“Your heart: full of love. Always willing to care for those around you, even at the expense of yourself. Selfless, honorable, noble.” Hermione could feel his hot breath against her chest. She lifted her head back up to see him, sensing his pause. They shared eye contact briefly, before he broke it to look down at her chest.

After a moment, Malfoy pushed himself up on his elbows to skip over her breasts. He dropped his lips onto the center of her abdomen and trailed a couple more kisses down toward her navel. As he kissed the spot directly below her belly button, her hand flinched. She prevented herself from stopping him, but he looked up at her as if she hadn’t.

“Granger?” He rubbed his thumbs against the sides of her: up and down, from her ribs to her hips. It provided some much needed reassurance. “The second you say stop, we stop.” She nodded in agreement, and he nodded once in response.

Malfoy proceeded to kiss her once more on her navel, before unbuttoning her trousers. Hermione lifted her hips up to help him shimmy them off of her, and he added them to her jumper on the floor. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he took her left leg in his hands.

“Your legs and your feet, bringing you wherever your heart desires, and I’m grateful every day that they’ve brought you to me.” Starting at the ball of her foot, he trailed kisses up the inside of her leg, stopping at her knee. She giggled softly at the tickling sensation he caused; he lifted his brow up at her and gave her a knowing look, before pressing his lips against the inside of her knee two more times. He then did the same with her right leg.

Hermione lifted her arms in front of her, beckoning him back on top of her. He did as requested, resting his elbows back on either side of her; he placed more kisses on her abdomen, taking his time with her. Just as his lips reached the seam of her underwear, Hermione instinctively put her right hand on his head and gently pulled his hair. He instantly stopped to look back up at her. She took a deep breath as the nerves returned and consciously moved her hand from his head to his shoulder.

“S-Sorry,” Hermione whispered, speaking for first time since their journey began.

“Don’t be sorry,” he replied genuinely. “Do you want to stop?” She took another deep breath to bring her confidence level back up.

“No, I don’t want to stop,” she answered, giving him a convincing smile, as she gripped onto the collar of his shirt with both hands. “But I think you’re a little overdressed?” Malfoy sat up to rest on his heels, his legs on either side of her hips. Unable to reach any farther, she rested her hands on his thighs, patiently waiting. He delicately ran his hands up her sides and traced his fingertips against the indents of her ribs, lost in thought. While looking down at her, he took a deep breath. She hadn’t been this vulnerable in a long time, and it seemed to her like he hadn’t either. “Draco?”

They locked eyes and Malfoy took another deep breath. He finally reached behind his head and pulled his shirt up and over, before dropping it onto the growing pile of clothes. He looked down, avoiding her gaze, as she took him in for the first time. It became clear why he had been so hesitant during the last few moments. While her skin was free of blemishes, save for the one on her arm, his was covered in scars, little reminders of his past.

“Draco?” Hermione repeated, and he looked up at her, meeting her in the eye once again. His expression held so much anguish and shame. She reached her right hand up toward him; she waited until he leaned forward so she could brush her fingertips against his torso, running them across some of the larger scars. “Are they all from sixth year?”

“They’re not all from Potter, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he clarified, silently referencing the Sectumsempra curse. “And a few are just from working. You know the raids we do aren’t always the safest.” Malfoy had become an Auror just after graduation of their eighth year, working under Harry for the past ten years or so. For that, Hermione was extremely proud. He had come so far, well past redemption, especially considering where he had come from and where so many of his former associates had ended up. She nodded in understanding before reaching for his left hand, which he gave her without wavering.

Keeping his arm in her right hand, she hesitantly thumbed the stain on his forearm with her left, brushing the little lines that ran across it. His hand flinched, but he didn’t pull away from her. He had previously told her the story behind those little scars, so she didn’t push the subject. It had been a conversation that was much more intimate than even where they were now. Still, it was rare to see his mark, as he did so well to hide it. Bringing her mind back to the present, she squeezed his hand and lifted her head to meet his gaze once again, but something else caught her eye. She sat up further as she brushed her fingertips against a particularly jagged scar on the left side of his sternum that didn’t quite match the rest. She looked up at him in concern.

“Another time, if you don’t mind,” he kindly answered the unasked question and placed his hand in the middle of her side. “Now, where were we?” Hermione gave him a knowing smile, recognizing he was trying to get out of another heavy discussion. She kissed the jagged scar, made a mental note to ask about it later, and rested back down on the bed. She lifted her arms above her head, welcoming him to lay on top of her, as they had been previously.

Malfoy complied, rested comfortably on his left elbow beside her, and began to kiss her shoulder once more, while subconsciously rubbing his hand across her abdomen. He gently nibbled on the nub of her collarbone at the base of her throat, causing her moan; she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him there. Her body was on fire once again but in the wonderful way that she was missing earlier. After a few moments and with her growing confidence, she boldly took his right hand from her abdomen and placed his fingertips directly beneath the wiring of her bra. Taking the hint, he slowly pushed her bra up and over her breasts. Not wasting time to unhook it, Hermione sat up quickly and pulled it over her head, dropping it haphazardly onto the floor. As she laid back down, he moved his right leg between hers, pressing his knee where she could feel the heat radiating. They kissed heavily, not getting enough of each other, as he roamed his hand down her chest and back onto her abdomen. He abruptly withdrew from her lips, and she looked up at him, confused by his sudden absence. He was staring down at his hand, not daring to move.

Sensing his hesitation, Hermione leaned up kissed the corner of his jaw to convey that this was truly what she wanted. After one more soft kiss on the lips, Malfoy performed a wandless contraception charm, focusing intently to be sure it was done correctly. A soft glow radiated from her navel for barely a second before it disappeared. The simple action made the situation so much more real. She sighed, grateful that he had thought of it, as it had completely slipped her mind.

After a few breaths of time, Hermione placed her hands on top of his. She pushed his hand further down her abdomen until she felt his fingertips graze underneath the seam of her underwear. She closed her eyes, as she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled to help control her heart rate. Malfoy removed his hand from her, causing her groan in protest, and brought her wrists above her head. He lay back down beside her, his left hand linking with hers.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his lips pressing directly behind her ear. “Absolutely divine.” His right hand grazed back down her body, sending shivers up her spine. She reflexively arched her back, and he reached his left hand around to the center of her chest to keep her steady. Malfoy kept whispering sweet words in her ear, but she was too distracted by his hands to truly hear him. His fingernails delicately scraped up and down her thigh, inching closer to her core with each pass. Feeling impatient, she grabbed his wrist and pulled it back up to the crook of her hip.

“Please,” Hermione begged as she turned and pressed her forehead into his shoulder. “Please.” Malfoy finally touched her center with his middle finger, keeping the barrier of her underwear between them. She sighed at the touch, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She tried rocking her hips to increase the friction, but he held firm against her. She pushed her face against his chest to quiet her moans. “Please.” Unexpectedly, he retracted his hand from her heat and got up off the bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she whined at the loss of contact and reached her hand down to the middle of her legs. Just as her fingertips brushed the inseam of her underwear, she felt him grab hold of her wrist and bring it back up above her head, causing her to gasp and open her eyes to him. He forcibly pushed her wrist into the mattress, silently asking her to wait. She took a deep breath to have better control over herself and nodded slightly.

While holding eye contact, Malfoy let go of her wrist; he proceeded to unbuckle his trousers, pulled them off, and added them to the discarded pile. He had left his underwear on, which caused her to reach for his waistband. He pulled her hand away and planted light kisses on her fingertips. She moaned in protest, causing him to breathily chuckle at her expense. Malfoy bent downward, kissing her navel just as he had before, and hooked his forefingers into the black lace that hung on her hips. He looked up at her and waited until she nodded. He pulled her underwear down slowly as she lifted her knees toward her chest to help him get them off.

Climbing back onto the bed, Malfoy pressed his lips against her right leg and began trailing up her thigh. She gasped quietly as he reached the inside corner of her hip, but he stopped, not getting close enough to her heat. He then performed the same actions to her other leg. The lack of attention to her core was starting to drive her crazy.

“Draco?” They locked eyes. “Please?” He seemed to understand as he nodded. He gave her one light kiss on her mound before pulling his own underwear down and away from himself. He gave her a few soft kisses on the corner of her jaw and returned to his knees. Hermione didn’t look down to in between his legs. There was something stopping her, but she wasn’t quite ready to protest against it; instead, they kept their eyes on each other. She wrapped her legs around his waist, hooking her feet behind his back. He grabbed hold of himself, lining up with her.

“Are you sure?” Malfoy asked one final time. She nodded, but his chest and shoulders stiffened, not moving forward like she expected of him.

“Slow and steady, something something?” Hermione whispered the familiar phrase, one they had been using on occasion since they had started dating. It seemed to have eased some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Slow and steady, something something,” he repeated. “When you say stop, we stop.” Ever so carefully, he entered her, and she let her eyes flutter closed. She instantly knew she was exactly where she was meant to be, a feeling that came over her during every single minute she spent with him. Except this time. This time was slightly different; it was a feeling of completeness, a feeling of rightness, a feeling that she was finally with the man with whom she was meant to spend the rest of her days. And it was everything she had been waiting for.

Malfoy moved slowly as promised, like a metronome, keeping in time with her mews. He roamed his hands up her thighs and onto her chest, but it wasn’t nearly enough for her. Hermione put her feet down on the bed, arching her back to feel him deeper inside. She felt him push into the perfect spot inside her, causing her to moan and grip tightly onto the pillow beneath her. It was like nothing she had ever experienced.

“Please,” she begged, her breathing becoming irregular. She tried to arch her back again to recreate the feeling, but it was no longer working. As if sensing her need, he gripped onto her hips and pushed her back down into the mattress, penetrating her deeper still. Instinctively, she turned her head, pressing her face into the pillow to muffle her moans.

“No.” Hermione heard him say as she felt the coolness of his hand on her cheek. She opened her eyes, and he turned her head away from the pillow. She took a deep breath to help put him in focus. His jaw was clenched, but he held a gentleness in his eyes. “I want to hear you. No one’s around for miles. I want to hear you.” With no warning, he pushed further into her, hitting that special spot once again, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut and scream in a way she had never heard come out of her own mouth. She had only ever been with one other man, and he had never wanted to hear her; he had wanted her to be as quiet as possible. But Draco Malfoy. He wanted her exactly for who she was, nothing more and nothing less, and the emotion behind it was putting her over the edge.

“I’m gonna-” she cried before being interrupted by a wave of ecstasy and a sloppy kiss on her mouth. She felt her core pulsate as she rode out the waves, feeling him riding them with her. She gulped in air to try to get her breathing back to normal as her thighs began to spasm. A weight fell upon her body causing her to open her eyes. Malfoy was laying on top of her, breathing heavily in her ear while pressing kisses against her. She found comfort in the weight. “Wow.”

“Yeah...wow...I think it was the foreplay. We can make it longer next time,” he breathed and gave her a soft kiss above her ear. “You okay?” She nodded slowly. She wanted to voice that it didn’t need to be longer, that he had been perfect, but she was too focused on the words “next time.” She started to shiver, chills coming over her. Whether that was related to her quivering legs, she wasn’t sure; she had never experienced anything like that before.

“I think I need a towel,” Hermione whispered shyly, and she heard a breathy chuckle. Though she was still cold, she could feel her face heat up in embarrassment.

“Or just a cleaning charm.” He got up off of her, performed a quick charm on her first and then himself, and picked up the duvet at the bottom of the bed to drape over her. She whispered a quiet “thank you” as he got under the covers beside her. Using the last of her energy, she repositioned herself, her back lying against his chest, skin against skin. He snuck his left arm underneath the pillow beneath her head and began to massage her still trembling thighs with his right hand. He always knew exactly what she needed without her even saying a word. They had yet to say the big l-word, and she knew that this was not the time to say it. Still, as she lay there, wrapped in his arms, she had never felt more loved.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say it every chapter, but thank you again to you all. Sending all my love to you!!

“Hermione Granger!” Vandily, the Malfoy Manor house-elf, exclaimed as Hermione made her way through the Floo network. “Vandily is very happy to see Hermione Granger!” The little house-elf curtsied in front of her and grabbed hold of her hand to lead her through the foyer.

“I’m happy to see you too, Vandily. How have you been?”

“Very well, Miss! Vandily has many new friends she’d like you to meet, Miss. Many new friends, indeed.” It was moments like this when Hermione absolutely loved her job. It could be very overwhelming most days, but times like these made all the frustration worth it.

“So, I’ve heard,” Hermione replied with a smile as she was practically dragged through the hallway. “Though I’ll need to see Mrs. Malfoy before I can visit with your new friends.”

“That’s where we’re going, Miss. Don’t worry, Miss, Vandily knows all of the house-elf regulations.” The little house-elf had on what looked to be a new blue tea dress, which Hermione complimented. “Oh, thank you, Miss! Mistress gave Vandily and all her new friends new clothes when they came to live with us, Miss! Vandily is very grateful for Mistress.”

As Vandily led her through the Manor, Hermione had a feeling of where they were headed. The house-elf stopped in front of the entryway of the library. Vandily put her finger up to her lips to signal Hermione to be quiet, and they silently walked through the library. Hermione could hear a hushed voice just past the bookcases.

“‘...and none of them ever knew or suspected that the Fountain’s waters carried no enchantment at all.’ The end.” As Hermione turned the corner, the sight took her breath away. Narcissa Malfoy was sitting in a rocking chair near the window of the back wall; the twelve house-elves who Hermione had helped escape Selwyn Manor were sitting on the floor in front of her. The scene reminded Hermione of Year One in a typical Muggle school, the children listening intently to the teacher read. As tears prickled her eyes and with a soft smile on her face, Hermione walked farther into the cornered off section of the library. Narcissa looked up from her students. “Ms. Granger, a pleasure as always.”

“I’m a little early; I hope I’m not interrupting anything...”

“Oh no, of course not,” Narcissa rose from her seat with the same grace she always carried and addressed the little ones. “Why don’t you all make yourselves something to eat and we can finish our lesson after lunch, alright?” All the house-elves rose from their place and scurried noisily out of the library with Vandily in tow. “Now, Ms. Granger, you’ll want to see their living quarters, yes?” Hermione nodded as Narcissa led the way toward where the house-elves had gone.

“Was that _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ I heard you reading?” Hermione asked, keeping the conversation light as they walked.

“You have a good ear. Did you know that it’s one of Draco’s favorite books?”

“Really? I’m surprised he’s even heard of it. As I recall, his father tried to have that particular book banned from Hogwarts.”

“Yes, well, my son has always been a bit rebellious when it comes to the teachings of his father...How is everything fairing with you both, by the way?” Hermione knew the question was coming; it couldn’t be helped when she was dating the matron’s son. She didn’t know how much or how little Draco had told his mother about his newfound relationship, so she tried to stay reticent about it.

“We’re fairing very well.” Narcissa gave her a side glance, causing Hermione’s smile to widen at the memory of her previous visit to the Manor. “I’m not lying this time, I promise.” The matron hummed in response. “How’s everything going with you? Draco mentioned something about how you’re not continuing the monthly visitations with his father?”

“I hope that boy’s not worrying about me; he has no reason to,” Narcissa replied almost as if she were thinking aloud, before remembering her place. “Ms. Granger...let’s just say, I hope you never have to choose between two loves of your life. And if you ever do, I hope you remember that your children should always come first.” At that, Narcissa opened the door to the living quarters Hermione had visited on numerous occasions during past routine checks, signaling that the conversation was over. Hermione nodded solemnly before entering the room.

In addition to the thirteen beds, drawers, and cubby holes for the house-elves, there was also an ajar door which led to another room. After briefly looking over the room and finding everything in order, she pushed the door open further and saw what looked to be a classroom. There were thirteen desks, each labeled with the house-elf’s name to which it belonged, with an extra desk to even out the room. They were facing a chalkboard in the back of the room. Hermione turned to the owner of the home.

“You mentioned there’s a lesson after lunch? Are the lessons in this room?”

“Yes, I’m currently teaching them how to read. I don’t have too much for them to do throughout the Manor; I’ve found all the chores are usually done by midmorning, with nothing left for them to do. They find so much joy in taking direction that I thought, why not use that to their own advantage, at least in the meantime. Plus, it gives me something to do; I’ve read through all our remaining books in library at least twice.” Hermione was positively amazed, a vast contrast to where these house-elves had come from.

“What a brilliant idea. Would you mind if I sat in on your lesson today? I would love to see their minds at work.”

“I would more be surprised if you didn’t. They should all be here within a few minutes; I’ve found they’re very punctual.” While waiting for the house-elves to return from lunch, Hermione finished up her inspection of the living quarters. She knew she was cutting into time she had reserved for reports and mail, but she was certain that this was a grand opportunity to learn more about the house-elves for which she strived so hard.

And a wonderful lesson, it was. Hermione not only learned about the house-elves but about the woman who had raised the man she was currently dating. Hermione admired her and found herself wanting to be everything she was: independent, empowered, remarkable, phenomenal. Throughout the lesson, Hermione was reminded of the numerous times her friends had told her they believed she was already all of those things. She knew she already had a handle on her professional life; her job came easy to her. But first time, she was actually starting to believe she had a handle on her personal life as well.

After a long day, Hermione took the familiar Floo network to Malfoy’s cottage. She sighed at the empty study and walked down the hall. Not bothering to search the home any further, she stopped at the first door on the right, grateful for the soft glow illuminating the hallway that signaled that the occupant might still be awake. She gently pushed the ajar door open and poked her head in to confirm her hypothesis. He was still sitting up in bed, reading.

“Hey,” she spoke quietly as to not spook him. Malfoy looked up from his book with a tired smile on his face and automatically marked the page. “I know I’m a little late...”

“Hey, how was your day? Busy, I imagine?”

“Busy, but good.” She stopped to give him a greeting kiss before walking toward the bureau and opening the top drawer that had been designated as hers within the past week. “I saw your mother today, visited the house-elves at the Manor. They’re adjusting much better than expected which is great news. They were the easiest interviews I’ve ever had to go through with house-elves. She’s treating them really well, not that I wouldn’t have expected her to. She’s even teaching them how to read. It’s quite astonishing actually; it broadened my ideas of how house-elves ought to be treated. I wish I had thought of it sooner. I didn’t have time to write up the report today though. I think I’ll go into the office in the morning to work on it, even though I try to take weekends off for myself. I just know I won’t have time on Monday; I have that consultation with the werewolf who got fired from his job last week. I think I told you about his case. I might be able to find time-”

“Granger.” Keeping her head down, Hermione stopped short and could feel her face warming.

“I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”

“I’m alright with being second to Ministry work in your world; I knew it was going to be part of the deal. You need some respite from it once in a while though. I think it would be good for you.” Malfoy kept his voice light. Even through his teasing, he kept showing support for her and saying sweet things, things that were completely opposite to what she was used to hearing, even in her own head. He played a main part in keeping her self-doubt at bay.

“I think _you’re_ good for me,” she thought aloud before she realized what she said and looked up at him with wide eyes. He smiled softly and raised his hand to her.

“Come to bed, Granger.” With a sigh and a nod, Hermione pulled her old Gryffindor shirt and pants out of the drawer. Before she could step back through the doorway to head to the loo, Malfoy grabbed hold of her arm to stop her. “You can change here if you want to...” She knew what he was doing; he was trying to keep an innocence to the situation while telling her they were already well past that stage. She noticed just then that he was shirtless; it was becoming a habit during the past few weeks, but it still made her blush.

“Okay,” she replied softly as she closed the door. “But could you...close your eyes?” After giving her a knowing look, he did as requested and Hermione quickly changed. Feeling ambitious, she climbed onto the bed, putting her knees on either side of his waist, and he instinctively placed his hands on her hips. After another quick kiss on the lips, she laid her head on his shoulder, and he placed light kisses from her temple down to her neck. “Maybe I should sell my apartment. I’m here much more often, and I still don’t have any furniture. It’d probably be more convenient just to get rid of it.”

“Whatever you want, Love,” he whispered in her ear, sounding both tired and lost in thought. It was the first time he said that word to her; she found herself wanting to hear it again but didn’t chance asking him. She let her fingertips trail across the scars on his chest, trying to memorize each line.

“You never told me the stories of your scars,” she said questioningly and he shouldered her head off of him. Malfoy looked at her as if contemplating the idea. She gave him a smirk that could rival his own. “Come on, Malfoy.”

“Oh, it’s back to _Malfoy_ , is it? You had been calling me Draco for a while now. What happened?”

“Well,” she started breathy giggle, “you’ve only called me Hermione what? Twice? Am I always going to be _Granger_ to you?”

“We could be married for forty years, and I’d still be calling you Granger. That’s just the way it is; so when I call you Hermione, it makes that much more special.” He didn’t seem to be phased by his own statement, but Hermione certainly was. They had only been dating for almost two months, and the concept of marriage felt so far away from where they were. Still, she smiled at the thought of the future and even more so at the idea that he even remotely thought of marrying her.

“I suppose that makes sense,” she replied as her fingertips continued trailing over his chest. “Still, are you going to tell me any of your stories?” He sighed before agreeing with her request.

“These seven,” he started. She kissed each scar as he pointed to them one by one on his chest and torso. “Are from Potter in sixth year. And these four...” His voice trailed off as she gave him four more kisses. “Are from various raids throughout the years; there’s not much to tell with them, honestly. Nothing worth even remembering. I got this one from Blaise.” He pointed to a scar on his right bicep which she proceeded to kiss as well. “A couple years ago now. Fighting over a girl, if I remember correctly.” Malfoy paused to look back up at her; he had a look in his eyes that she wasn’t quite familiar with. Hermione had a feeling he was avoiding the jagged scar, just to the left of his sternum. Instead of pressing him, she thumbed his right collarbone, which held a very faint scar of its own.

“What about this one?” Malfoy looked down and tried to stretch his shoulder back to see. “It looks old.”

“I forgot I still had that one; it’ll probably be gone within the next year or so.” He sighed before he continued. “That one’s actually from Snape, if you can believe that. It was right after fifth year, before everything went to hell...He told me he didn’t want me to end up like him. I was a brooding teenager, I’m sure you remember. I told him he was a fool, and I said...I said, ‘Maybe if you loved someone as much as I do, you would understand that I don’t have a choice.’ Then he hit me, broke my collarbone. And quite frankly, I deserved it.”

Hermione’s mind wandered months back to their conversations about his mystery girl. She couldn’t help but wonder if that girl was who he was talking about during his argument with Blaise, or his argument with Snape, or who he thinking about now. Hermione kissed that scar as well to try to keep his mind on her. She sighed as she placed her head back on his shoulder and her arms around his neck, wanting to hold on to him for as long as he would let her. Doing her best to push the fear of losing him away, she let her hand fall to his chest, to the one scar that remained unexplained.

“And this one?” Malfoy sighed as he rubbed his hand methodically, up and down her back. Whether it was to comfort her or himself, she wasn’t sure.

“You’re really seeing a vulnerability I don’t normally show people.”

“Well, you’ve seen about every type of vulnerability there is from me. I think it’s only fair.” There was a break in their conversation, and Hermione didn’t think he was going to tell the story. She closed her eyes as the length of the day caught up with her. She had just about fallen asleep when she finally heard him speak up.

“It was from my father,” he whispered. She was fully awake at that statement but didn’t move out of apprehension that he wouldn’t continue. She focused on his gentle thumbing of her spine. “It was the summer before sixth year. He tried to train me in Occlumency. I wasn’t very good at it at the beginning, of course. Evidently, he didn’t like what he saw... I don’t particularly like to talk about my father. Mother likes to say he did what he thought was best for us, but I can never see it from that point of view. Even if you ask him, there’s no way of knowing the truth, even with Veritaserum. He would probably be able to resist the effects, and they banned it when Shacklebolt became Minister anyway. I guess I’ll never truly know what his motives were for any action he took during his sad excuse for a life. To lose everyone who is close to you...I almost pity him...Almost...”

Hermione felt his chest move underneath her hand as he took a breath. She didn’t ask for the details of the memory; she just sat in silence with her eyes closed, waiting for him to continue. He must have thought she had fallen asleep, as he gently lifted her off of his lap and laid her down on the bed beside him. She reflexively curled into a fetal position; he draped the duvet over her, pressed his chest against her back, and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Sleep well, Love,” he whispered and kissed the spot behind her ear. It was the third time she had heard him use that word and the second time directed at her. Though it sounded so sincere (especially since he didn’t even know she was awake), Hermione felt the self-doubt begin to creep back in inside her mind. She silently cried herself to sleep that night, for the first time in almost a year. There were tears of hope that when he called her Love, he actually meant it; tears of yearning for a future of falling asleep every night with his arms wrapped around her; tears for the pain he must have endured during their Hogwarts years, the war, and beyond; and tears of fear that he was simply using her as a placeholder for someone else. She could almost hear Ginny in the back of her mind. _Even if he is, why not reap the benefits?_


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback! You are all so good to me. Sending all my love to you!

“I need a favor,” Hermione said all too soon as she walked into Harry’s office. She flinched slightly at the sight of the company. Malfoy was sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of Harry’s desk, looking relaxed as always. She wasn’t prepared for him to be there; they shared eye contact while Hermione looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Who are you asking there, Hermione?” Harry asked patiently, and she looked to him as if remembering where she was.

“You, if you have the time?” she asked, breathing shallowly while doing her best to avoid looking back at Malfoy.

“I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Malfoy chimed in teasingly as he rose from his seat. “I’ll see myself out. We’ll talk later this afternoon, Potter?”

“Definitely. I look forward to it,” Harry replied as Malfoy stopped in front of her and put his hand on her waist.

“We still on for lunch?” She nodded slowly, and he kissed her temple. As he backed away, she lifted her chin, chasing after him for more contact. “Great. Just come by my office when you’re...done with your conversation.” And he walked out of the office with Hermione staring at the doorway of where he had disappeared.

“You needed a favor?” Harry asked, bringing her once again out of her stupor. She slowly closed the door until she heard the soft click and turned back to Harry.

“I need approval to go to Azkaban,” she said, getting straight to the point. Harry didn’t seem to be expecting that request based on his expression.

“Excuse me? Why would you want to go to Azkaban?”

“Because I need to speak with Lucius Malfoy,” Hermione replied factually. “From what I’ve seen, he has done nothing but tear his family apart, and I need to do something about it.”

“Typical Hermione Granger, trying to fix the world,” Harry breathed, shaking his head to himself. He sighed deeply, walked over to the front of his desk, and leaned up against it. “The Auror Department doesn’t handle Azkaban requests, but I’m guessing you don’t want anyone else to know about it...I’ll see what I can do. It’ll probably be a couple weeks.”

“Thank you, Harry. I appreciate it. Narcissa isn’t going to his monthly visitations anymore, so I can just take one of those spots, if it simplifies the process?”

“That’ll probably work out better.” Harry jotted down a note of her request before turning back to her. “How are things with you, by the way? It’s been a while since we’ve had a good talk.”

“Good. Really good.” Hermione replied with a smile. He gave her a knowing look causing her to chuckle. “Really, Harry. Everything’s going really well. The self-doubt creeps in once in a while, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Plus, I’ve got a great group of friends behind me, right?” She nudged him with her elbow until the skepticism left his face.

“Of course you do, Hermione. This is happiest I’ve seen you in a long time, especially with all those ‘really’s’ you’ve added...I just want to make sure it stays like this. From what I’ve seen, I think Malfoy’s good for you.” Hermione’s smile changed to a soft one, remembering that she had thought the exact same thing not too long ago.

“I happen to agree,” she replied, her smile reaching her eyes causing them to wrinkle.

————

As Hermione walked into the visitation room with one of the Azkaban guards, she knew she had made the right decision in going there. Lucius Malfoy was sitting at the table, looking much worse than the last time she had physically seen him, tens years prior. She, of course, had seen various wizarding photos of him in the Daily Prophet over the years, but they didn’t compare to the corpse of a man sitting in front of her. He looked pathetic, chained to the table in the middle of the room, surrounded by three guards, one in each corner. At the sound of the door closing behind her, he looked up, his eyes bright. Then, as if his company wasn’t who he was expecting, his eyes darkened. Hermione supposed his response was due to her not being his wife. Her escort made his way to the empty corner, and she took a silent breath in, pulling her shoulders back to appear a little taller.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Lucius spewed. Though he looked haggard, his voice kept the same gruff tone he had when she was young.

“I’m surprised that I’m someone worth remembering, Lucius. How have you been?” His eyes followed her as she sat down across from him.

“Don’t waste my time with niceties. I won’t repeat myself again, what are you doing here? This is my monthly visitation, and you will _not_ replace my wife’s visit.”

“Unfortunately for you, Narcissa doesn’t wish to see you at the moment. However, I’m not privy as to why.” Hermione straightened her back and linked her hands together, resting them on top of the table. “I’m here to speak with you about your family.”

“And what business is that of yours, _Mudblood_?” He pounded his fists on the table at the last word; the chains around his wrists rattled, the sound echoing in the chamber. Hermione kept her poise, not even flinching at the quick movement. Her escort, who she could still see just behind her guest, stepped out of his corner, but she lifted her hand to him, signaling that she wasn’t in any true danger.

“Your son and I have become quite close these past few months. If you cared enough to keep in touch with him, you would have known that. I find it unfortunate that even when he was a child, you didn’t bother to be the father he needed you to be.” Hermione knew it was a long shot, given that she didn’t truly know the extent of the Malfoy family, but based on his reaction, she wasn’t too far off.

“How _dare_ you?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “How dare you assume that of me? Everything I’ve done for my family was to protect them. _Everything_.”

“Does that include scarring your own son’s chest while training him in Occlumency?”

“You’ve been nothing but a hassle when it comes to my family. I don’t need to explain myself to the likes of you,” Lucius replied, his tone rising to a natural volume but keeping its malice.

“You’re tearing your own family apart; I hope you realize that. You have a son, who has refused to see you for the past ten years, and a wife, who is well on her way of doing the exact same thing. I’m trying to help you here.” She gave him a few moments to respond, but he refused to take up her offer. She sighed in disappointment. “I should have known this would be a waste of my time. You’re going to die in Azkaban, with no one on the other side mourning your loss. And that I find most unfortunate of all.” She rose from her seat, looking down at the man for perhaps the last time. She nodded to her escort, signaling that her time here was over, and began to walk back to the door. Just as the guard was about to open the door for her, Lucius finally spoke up.

“That’s exactly what they need.” His voice was quiet but didn’t hold the malice it had just a few short minutes ago. It was almost a pitiful sound. She turned her head back to him, but he didn’t look up at her from his chained seat at the table. “I don’t want them to mourn my name; I’m not even someone worth remembering, as you put it, Ms. Granger. That’s why I’m pushing them away, so that they won’t miss me when I’m gone. That’s also why I tried Apparating out of here. I knew exactly what Apparating would do to me, but I wanted to prepare them for my death.”

There was a thickness in the air, as his words weighed down on everyone in the room.

“If it’s one thing I’ve learned this year, Mr. Malfoy...” she paused until he finally met her gaze once again. “It’s that life doesn’t always turn out the way you expect it; it has a funny way of sneaking up on you. But in order to see how it ends...you need to live it...I’ll be sure to let Narcissa know you’ll be expecting her next month.” She nodded and turned back around to leave, but she was stopped once again. She heard something she never thought she’d hear from Lucius Malfoy, a soft spoken “thank you.”

————

“Beautiful,” Malfoy muttered against her lips as one hand roamed up her side. Every morning, he would bring her a cup of coffee from the cafeteria, and over time, they had formed a habit of ending up on top of her desk, in the throws of passion. It wasn’t like Hermione at all to do something like that at work, but given that she was always early and Timothy was always late, it wasn’t much of a concern. “...Beautiful.” Just as his lips reached the corner of her jaw, there was an abrupt knock at her door.

“Ms. Granger!” It was Mr. Vassar. _Typical_. “Ms. Granger, your door is locked. Are you in?” Malfoy growled softly in her ear in response to the interruption, causing her to chuckle.

“Hold on. One moment.” She was surprised that her voice sounded so natural considering the position she was currently in. As she made her way to the door, she pushed Malfoy’s hands off of her hips and gave him a look to tell him to keep quiet.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Vassar,” she started as she opened the door. “I was just finishing up a meeting with Mr. Malfoy; we usually plan our meetings in the morning to avoid collision with other meetings.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Malfoy’s hand flinch slightly.

“No problem at all. I just have a guest here who I found wandering through our department. She said she was looking for you.” Mr. Vassar turned to give Hermione a clear view of the guest to which he was referring. Standing just behind him was Summer Weasley née Selwyn, a woman Hermione hadn’t seen since the wedding that felt so long ago. Malfoy must have been able to see her to, as his hand ended up resting on the small of her back, something that seemed to always provide her comfort.

“Summer, what a...pleasant surprise.” Hermione tried to keep her voice even, but the pause in her sentence must have been noticed. Malfoy’s hand trailed up to the center of her back.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Hermione. I was hoping you could spare a few moments of your time?” Summer’s voice, contrary to Hermione’s, was velvety.

“Sure, why don’t you take a seat, and we can talk?” She opened the door a little wider as Summer squeezed past Mr. Vassar to enter Hermione’s office.

“Wonderful,” Mr. Vassar stated. “Mr. Malfoy, I’ll walk with you back to your department. I need to have a little chat with Mr. Potter anyway.” Malfoy looked as if the last thing he wanted to do was walk back to his office with Mr. Vassar. Still, he nodded and faced Hermione.

“We still on for lunch?” Hermione could hear another question in his tone. Will you be alright without me?

“Of course,” she replied simply with a feigned smile. Sure, she’d be fine without him, but that didn’t stop her from wanting him there. “I’ll come by your office around one?” He must have seen past the smile she was carrying as it took him much longer than it would have to nod in response. He followed Mr. Vassar down the hallway without another word, and Hermione closed the office door behind him, trapping herself in a situation she certainly didn’t want to be in.

When Hermione turned around to walk to her desk chair, she truly took in her guest for the first time. Summer was sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs, staring down at her hands that were folded on her lap. Whether she looked melancholy or guilty, Hermione couldn’t tell. The scene brought her back to more than a year ago. This same girl had been sitting in the middle of the hallway of the Auror Department, next to Hermione’s bloodied then-husband, looking just as pitiful as she did now.

“So Summer, what can I do for you?” Hermione asked, feeling her confidence rising as she sat down at her desk. She watched as Summer took a deep breath before she lifted her head.

“How did you know you were in love with Ronald?” Hermione wasn’t expecting that question, and she certainly wasn’t expecting Summer’s eyes to start prickling with tears. Hermione quietly umm’d to postpone having to give a response. “It’s just...I thought I was in love with him, but lately...lately, I’m not so sure.”

Hermione then realized why it was that she had felt so sympathetic toward this woman for the past year and a half. It was solely because she reminded her so much of herself. A woman who perfected the art of fake smiles. A woman who withdrew from the world to avoid the darkness that loomed over her. A woman who tried her best to ignore the negativity that entered her mind. A woman who was constantly overwhelmed and didn’t have a shoulder to lean on. A brittle, dejected woman who didn’t think she could ever find anyone better than Ronald Weasley.

“I don’t...” Hermione sighed deeply and then started again. “I don’t think I ever loved him.” Summer gave her a disheartened look, as if she had been wishing for a better answer. “Why don’t you give me some reasons as to why you’re with him, and then I can give you a better answer?”

“Well, that’s just it,” Summer mumbled as she looked back down at her hands. “When we first got together, I never intended to be with him; I hope you know that. I had my eye on someone else, but then Ron...And in the beginning, it was all in...Well, I would say it was all in good fun, but if I were you, I wouldn’t want to hear that. But it was. It was thrilling, sneaking around and all. I hear the beginnings of relationships are always the fun parts, before you become complacent in it. And then after you got divorced...It’s _still_ fun, and Ron is so happy. He loves working with his brother, and he recently started working for my father; I hear that’s going really well. But the truth is that, especially at the beginning, I never intended for it to work out this way. I never intended to marry Ron. I was just under obligation to marry someone of the Sacred 28 for my inheritance, and Ron was willing, so I thought ‘Why not?’. I-I’m sorry; I’m rambling.”

“Don’t worry; I’m used to rambling,” Hermione replied patiently, and Summer looked back up at her. “ _My_ truth is that I never had fun with Ron. We never had thrilling times, like it seems you did. But I think I can help you.” Summer’s eyes went wide with anticipation and nodded, as if ready to take in any advice that Hermione was willing to give her. “You can’t go searching for what you’re trying to find; it’ll come to you when you least expect it. Whether or not that’s with Ron, I don’t know, but it will come to you. There’s someone out there for everyone. Someone who understands you better than anyone else. Someone who knows you better than you know yourself. Someone who will do anything and everything to give you peace. Someone who will lift as many burdens off your shoulders as you’re willing give him. Someone who takes your breath away while at the same time makes it easier to breathe. Someone who is your backbone, keeping you upright and your head on straight.”

There was a brief silence between the two women, and then Summer finally whispered, “Is that what love is?”

“I think so...” Hermione spoke softly before breaking into a smile that spread so wide across her face it was painful. “Actually, it is. Definitely.” She stood up abruptly and made her way to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some important business to take care of?” She didn’t wait for a reply and began to march toward the lift. Luckily, she ran into Timothy in the hallway and asked him to escort Summer out of her office on her behalf. She was relieved that the lift didn’t carry any other passengers while it brought her to her destination.

By the time the lift finally opened, her smile had faded, and the self-doubt and the what-ifs that she had become all too familiar with began to enter her mind. Somehow her legs had brought her to the entrance of the office of the one man she wanted to talk to more than anyone, while at the same time she was more terrified than she had ever been before.

Hermione looked to the man who was sitting at his desk, focusing on his work. She took a deep breath, which must have been loud enough to grab his attention. He looked up at her, and she could see his expression change swiftly to a concerned one. She pursed her lips a few times, trying to find the words she wanted to use. She must have looked like a fish out of water.

“D-do...do you have a minute?” Malfoy was instantly at her side with his hand cupping her cheek.

“Always. Did something happen? What did she say?” She closed her eyes, feeling comfort in coolness of his hand on her face. She took another deep breath before locking eyes with him once again.

“No, nothing like that, but I need to talk to you. And knowing me, it’ll probably be long-winded, so you’ll have to bear with me.” He muttered a quiet “okay?” before leaning against the edge of his desk and wrapping his arms around her, almost as if he were afraid to let her go. Still, she looked down at her hands that she had rested on his chest, not quite ready to make eye contact during her speech. “You have been so good to me, especially during these last few months. You know me and understand me so well. You provide such comfort when the darkness looms over. I’ve slept better than I have in years; I _feel_ better than I have in years, and I think that’s all because of you. You are everything I’ve been waiting for. You make it easier to breathe, and you take all my fears away. But I’m still terrified...I’m terrified that one day I’ll wake up, and it’ll all be one big illusion, one big joke at my expense, like it was once before. I want to tell you something really important, but I don’t want what it is to make you leave. I don’t want to be alone again...”

“Try me.” Hermione whipped her head up, looking up at him with wide eyes, as his grip around her waist tightened and he pulled her closer. “Try me.”

“I’m in love with you,” she spoke softly as her voice trembled. He pushed her hair out of her face and rested his thumb on her cheekbone.

“Well, that’s good to hear, because I’m in love with you too.”

“Could you say that again?” Hermione asked, her heart sounding louder than her voice in her ears; he smiled understandingly.

“I’m in love with you,” Malfoy whispered. Hermione’s eyes started to water, overcome with emotion. Before she could reply, he kissed her on the lips, bringing her back to their first date, sitting on the hillside. The peace she had been searching for. “I love you.” A kiss to her jaw. “I love you.” A kiss to her cheek. “I love you.” A kiss to the corner of her eye. “I love you.”

“You don’t have to keep saying it,” she replied with a soft chuckle.

“Are you kidding? I have fourteen years to make up for; you’re going to be hearing it a lot.” He kissed her once again before his words finally caught up with her mind. She pressed her hands against his chest, stopping him from continuing.

“Fourteen years? What does that mean?” They shared a look for a few breaths worth of time, a look similar to the one he gave her when they talked about the scars on his mark, almost as if he was timid, which wasn’t like him at all. Hermione furrowed her brow. “Draco?”

“When I gave you that bracelet for your birthday,” Malfoy finally started. “I told you the sapphires represented your brilliance and that they’re your birthstone. But there was another reason I went with sapphires.” Keeping his right arm wrapped around her, he took her left hand in his left and kissed her knuckles, confusing Hermione even more. “The night I realized I was in love with you...was the night of the Yule Ball in fourth year. You looked gorgeous in those light blue dress robes; I couldn’t get you out of my head for months.” He lifted her hand a little more, kissing her wrist, where her bracelet should have lay, even though she never wore it to work.

“Why didn’t you tell me? There was plenty of time for you to tell me,” she said, trying to rationalize it all in her head.

“There was always a reason not to,” said Malfoy. “Potter has been bugging me for months about it actually.”

“Harry knew?” Hermione looked toward the doorway as if expecting Harry to appear. “How come he’s always the first to know everything and doesn’t think to tell me?” Malfoy gave a breathy chuckle as he kissed her temple. “You should have told me.”

“When? In the middle of the war? After you had just gotten married? While you were still getting over your ex-husband? When would have been a more opportune time for you? And even if I did, all those years ago, would you have even believed me?” Malfoy asked teasingly. He was obviously trying to make a point without getting her upset.

“You love me.” It wasn’t a question, but Malfoy still nodded. “Since fourth year.” Another nod. “So, wait. All those times we had talked about that mystery girl? About how she gave you hope during your most difficult days, and about how madly in love with her you are? She was me the whole time?” He nodded once more which caused her smile to widen. She slowly shook her head in disbelief. “You should have told me.”

“I’m telling you now,” Malfoy replied softly, as he lifted her right hand and kissed her knuckles. He then let go of her other hand to rub her cheek with his thumb. Hermione closed her eyes in content as he continued. “I just never wanted to cause you any pain. I was fine with stepping back as long as you were happy. For the past few months, I had been wanting to tell you, but I thought it best if I waited for you to feel it and say it first. I had waited fourteen years; I was willing to wait a little longer.”

“I wish I had known...All that worry and fear, completely wasted...” Her voice trailed off as she looked back up at him. “Why don’t we go home now? I’m finding I don’t want to be at work anymore today; I can just tell Mr. Vassar I’m taking a personal day.”

“Is Hermione Granger leaving work with no valid excuse? That doesn’t sound like her,” Malfoy teased as he walked her out of his office.

“What can I say, I’m in love. I’m sure Mr. Vassar will understand...Oh, wait! Every year on my birthday, I would get an unmarked gift on my desk. Was that you too?” He gave her a side glance as they walked down the hallway, confirming her suspicion. “And when Snape said he didn’t want you to end up like him, he was talking about me, wasn’t he?”

“We’re going to have a long night of interrogations, aren’t we?”

“Maybe not all night,” she replied suggestively with a quick jab to his side with her elbow. “But you love me, remember? And I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my husband, my backbone, keeping me upright and my head on straight.
> 
> Next chapter will be our Epilogue!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovelies, here’s the epilogue. I’ve always liked the idea of the last chapter mirroring the first, so that’s what I tried to show.  
> I really like the characters I’ve made in the Selwyns, so I do have a sequel forming; I just don’t have any of it written out yet. Hopefully by January, I’ll start posting chapters for it. Keep an eye out for it!!
> 
> Thank you for all the love and support. Sending all my love to you!!

It was just another Friday. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Hermione... Well, thirty-one-year-old Hermione was still in bed. Being on maternity leave, she was allowing herself to sleep in when she could. _Sleep when the baby sleeps, as they say._ The blinds were still closed, a tip from her mother to help her daughter sleep a little later in the mornings. Hermione knew she should have been getting up, but she found comfort in times like these, before the chaos of the day began. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

She was silently watching Cassiopeia sleeping in her bassinet that was attached to the bed, her chest rising and falling with each breath. In...and out...In...and out. It was mesmerizing. She found herself breathing in time with her daughter. The man, who she presumed was still asleep behind her, had his left arm underneath her pillowed head and his right snaked around her abdomen; it was quite a common arrangement. Turning her eyes toward his hand but keeping her breathing even, she subconsciously linked her left hand with his, thumbing his silver wedding band that perfectly matched hers.

In the past few years, she had learned so much about herself. So much about what she deserved and how to fight for it. She learned that when someone loves you, truly loves you, every day doesn’t feel like a struggle. It doesn’t have to feel like an uphill battle. No matter how many bad days or arguments or sleepless nights there were, he was still here, every morning, with his arms wrapped around her, enjoying the fresh morning air coming in through the window. Exactly where they were both meant to be. Seemingly out of nowhere, she felt soft kisses on the back of her neck, signaling her husband was awake and bringing her out of her train of thought.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? You know she gets that from her mother,” Draco mumbled against her shoulder blade, causing a breathy chuckle in response.

“And I suppose she gets her excessive crying from her father?”

“Oh, no. She definitely gets that from you too.” Her laughter must have been too loud, as the sleeping baby began to fuss. Hermione instinctively lifted her right forefinger to her lips until the child’s whimper returned to silent breaths. She let out a sigh of relief and rolled onto her other side to face her husband. She let her fingertips trace the strong lines of his collarbone. “Don’t forget; I’m taking her with me to Azkaban after work today. My father’s been wanting to see her since she was born. Apparently, I brag too much about her.”

“I didn’t forget,” she said with a soft smile. “I know it goes without saying, but be sure to keep her safe. As much as I’ve learned to trust your father, that place still terrifies me, and it’s no place for a child.”

“Don’t I know it. It’ll be good for him though. And the weekly visitations have lifted his spirits tremendously.” After that first visit Hermione had taken to Azkaban, she had fought for that family. She had convinced Draco and his mother to go to their monthly visitations once again, and she was even able to convince the Wizengamot to change the ruling to weekly visitations. For her current project, since she wasn’t currently working, she was getting together arguments to be able to pull Lucius out of Azkaban all together. It was in the beginning stages, but she was hopeful.

“I should probably get up now. Ginny’s coming over for breakfast,” she whispered. He nodded and kissed her gently, once on the lips and again on her forehead. Harry and Ginny were creating a family just as they were, only a few months behind with a baby boy on the way. Hermione had always felt a little envious of her best friends’ relationship, how easy they made it seem. In more recent years though, she wondered if anyone had become envious of hers. From what she had seen and heard from the gossip of the Weasleys, Ron and Summer were still happily married, though no children just yet. Hermione figured that whatever advice Summer had taken from her years ago had helped the young witch. Conveniently, Summer never came to her for advice after that, and they never even spoke except at the occasional ball or family get-together.

Hermione sat up with a stretch as the comforter pooled on her lap, as Draco got up to get dressed. Their room looked so...lived in. That was the only phrase she could think of to describe it. Lived in. So different compared to the empty apartment she came from. There were pictures of their baby sitting on the bureau. A photograph of their wedding day hanging on the wall. Boxes of gifts still littered their floor. Hermione used to hated that word. Their. It used to be a painful reminder of all that she had lost, but now it described all that she had built. They were still living in the beautiful cottage just outside of London, with the study down the hall that she still used to as her escape and the hillside in the back that he still used as his. It was the perfect size for the two them plus the new baby. There was plenty of land to expand, if needed, but it remained quiet and quaint, feeling just like home.

The dark clouds loomed over her on occasion, but those days were few and far between. Growing up, she never imagined being a woman who relied upon anyone but herself. She had always been independent, even through her first marriage. But she had since learned the difference between independence and loneliness. She was still the strong woman she had always been, but the loneliness had since been eradicated, pulled out by its roots that strangled her heart.

If the dark days were few and far between, the anxiety attacks were fewer and farther. She had a husband who was able to carry her worries and her burdens, even without her asking. He was a man who loved her a little extra on her dark days when she needed him. She was finally able to give her trust to a man who understood perfectly how delicate of a gift it was. There were little things he did every day that reminded her he wasn’t her first husband and never would be. She had learned that there was nothing she did or could do that would cause him to stray. He knew her and loved her, plain and simple.

“You alright there, Granger?” Draco asked, looking at her through the full-length mirror as he fixed the cuffs of his suit jacket.

“Yeah,” she replied with a smile as she took it all in, feeling truly alright. “I’m just...imprinting this moment, this feeling. I hope I never lose it...”


End file.
